


White Harbor

by Leebersnowy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Game of Thrones spoilers, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jonerys Week, Season/Series 08, The House of Black and White, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leebersnowy/pseuds/Leebersnowy
Summary: When the Queens company breaks their journey in White Harbor, and Jon and Dany try to keep their relationship a secret.





	1. Chapter 1

Jon

           It was mid morning and the bells of White Harbor were ringing out their welcome, as they approached the docks. Jon was late, and still fastening his cloak against the fresh falling snow. Ser Davos needn’t have chided him the whole way up from the cabins, he already knew the ship was talking. Unsullied lined the decks and at the hull stood Tyrion, Varys, and Ser Jorah. Each one noted his approach in their own way and Jon could feel at once that they knew what went on between he and Daenerys, and all the nights they spent sailing to the north.

         “Good of you to come.” Tyrion remarked, staring at the city before them.

        “I made it in time.” Jon answered.

       “Our Queen has been much occupied, ” Tyrion’s eyes darted to Jon’s face. “as of late.”

        Jon smiled, he couldn’t keep from it. “Has she?”

        Tyrion took a long deep breath. “The Manderlys are in the household seat here in White Harbor is that right?”

        “Lord Wyman, yes”

        “He had a son slain at the Red Wedding, did he not?” Varys asked Jon.

        “Aye.”

        “Do you believe he will be receptive to our queen?”

         Jon looked over the town, with it’s gathering crowds. White Harbor was a southern port with a southern family. The richest city in the Northern Kingdom. They had trade- fish and grain, and they had foreign goods, by the sea. They even took the new gods, like the rest of the Kingdom, despite the bulk of their fellow banner-men staying true to the old. They were not even counted as Northerners in some places, and lately, they’d laid low in the wars top win back Winterfell. There was no saying which way Lord Manderly would lean.

       “He will back Jon.” Ser Davos broke in. “He is loyal to the Starks.”

        “You know this?” Jon regarded Davos.

        “I’ve put time in with the Manderlys” Davos said mysteriously, “They are good, and true. Wyman is a man of honor. And he has two eligible daughters.”

         Jon felt more than one pair of eyes on him. “Good for him.”

         Davos fell silent.

         Tyrion stepped in closer, “You are in the game now, Jon Snow. Do not play it with your heart. I played it with mine, and now-”

         Jon met Tyrion’s eyes. “I know what I’ m risking.”

         Words of pain reflected in the Hand’s face. “And her? What is she risking?”

         Jon felt rather stunted, by that, then said, “Could you stop her, if she decided it was worth it?”

         Tyrion shook his head and laughed just a little, “No. No I could not.”

         Just as the docking had started the queen walked on deck, flanked by Missandei and Greyworm. Each of them now wore great furs and long cloaks, despite it only being White Harbor, and Jon nearly smirked at the sight, except for how well Dany looked in them. He kept his head mostly forward, watching the observers collect. They were a rich but curious bunch, and he wasn’t sure what was most interesting to them all, the Lannister turn-cloak, the bastard King of the North, or the Targaryan dragon-queen. Perhaps all, Jon thought grimly.

         Leaving the ship, Jon and Ser Davos lead the party, and were stopped almost immediately at the end of the plank. A man of astounding drunkenness, and only one leg, wobbled forward and roared. “The King in the North!”

         Jon smiled, feeling it was too long since he’d heard those words. “You are Ser Bartimus, hero of the Battle of the Trident.”

         “The same,” he bellowed. “An keeper o the Wolf’s Den, Your Grace. Welcome to White Harbor.”

         People were stopped in the streets to watch and Jon could see them alight with whispering and pointing. “I’ve grown up hearing stories of your battles.”

         “Did you!” Bertimus nearly fell to the ground, “Did you... But there comes with you, a Lannister and a Dragon to the North. And I say now, that Ned Stark would not abide-” Bertimus stopped. “An angel comes near.”

          Jon turned round and saw it was Daenerys that stopped the drunk, her presence sending ripples of reaction through the crowd. He wondered of course, if they saw what he saw, a radiant thing, with a gravity beyond her years, and a sadness he wished he could cure. How he wished everyone would see her as she truly was, whom she truly was. But it would take time, he knew, and greater diplomacy than he was capable of at the moment. She greeted the maimed man warmly, and mentioned that she knew of the Battle of the Trident. Jon watched her all the while. Aye, she knew of that battle. The one which robbed her of her brother.

          Lord Manderly approached then with his court in tow, and hollered, “King Jon! Long may he reign in the North.” Jon wanted to cringe, but in the next breath the nobleman said, “And this is the High Queen visiting our humble White Harbor.” He suddenly knelt low. “Your Grace, you honor us.”

          Jon glanced back at Tyrion, just now descending the ramp, and the dwarfs eyebrows raised. The rest of the Manderly court almost seemed astounded, and the daughters sir Davos spoke of smiled charmingly at Jon, but grow a deal colder at the sight of the queen.

         “My Lord, please rise,” Dany said at once, “And thank you for your welcome.”

          “If you do not look exactly like your mother...” Lord Manderly said softly.

         “You knew my mother, my lord?” she answered nearly as softly.

          Manderly flushed slightly, “Oh no. I only admired her, from the side lines.” Dany nodded slowly. “Please feel welcome here, and tonight dine in the halls of my family. Many guests have come to see you all, and many couriers too. Break your journey with us this night, and we will see you safely on the road North in the morning.”

           Jon looked to her and she looked to him. Then behind them, Tyrion spoke, “Yes, we accept this. And thank you. I have always hated travel by sea, almost as much I hate travel by horse.”

          “Well..well...” Lord Manderly stumbled for the right words.

          “Lord Tyrion Lannister,” Jon introduced him with the title he wasn’t entirely sure was Tyrions. “The Hand of the Queen. And this is her trust adviser Missandei of Naath. Beyond is Ser Davos, my adviser and Ser Jorah Mormont,” Jon cleared his throat, “head of the Queens guard.”

           “I bid welcome to you all.” Lord Wyman said, “And these are my daughters Wylla and Wynafryd, and the banner-men of my house. The Lords Hornwood and Woolfield, and their sons-” he launched into a long line of names each of which began with W, which Jon had no hope of remembering. The Manderlys had remained the hardest of Northern houses to memorize for him, even as a boy. The Lord finished with, “Each of us are grateful for your protection.”

            Jorah spoke at last, “Greyworm here commands the Unsullied, and the Dothraki-”

           “Are outside of the city, yes,” Wyman barged in, and motioned them to follow, “They’ve been showing up for days, and their camps stretch on for miles. Then beyond that are the lines and lines of the soldiers you called Unsullied, and they have kept the Dothraki very peaceful, so you see. There is no need for alarm.”

          “I should like to ride out to see the Unsullied,” Dany pulled her cloak up to step along the stones. “I shall have my horse unloaded quickly, and then-”

          “Your Grace, there are many who seek a word with you, as with the King in the North.” Lord Wyman said pointedly. Or so it sounded that way to Jon.

          “Afterwards.” she answered, “First I would-”

          “In time, my queen.” Ser Jorah said quickly, “All in time.” She quieted and Jon walked on in annoyance. She should not let him do that.

           Manderly spoke of all the things that went on in Jon’s absence, the quarrels and deaths and the marriages. There were reports flooding into the city, Lord Wyman told them, of more Wildling refugees, rumors of his sister Arya being a superb fighter, his brother having strange, mystical abilities. Jon followed and remembered how he used to wonder if his mother had been from White Harbor. The city was just as large and crowded as he’d always imagined it was, but now that he’d been to the Wilds of the North, and Kings Landing and Dragonstone, the world he used to dream about as a boy was diminished.

          New Castle, the seat of the Manderlys, was certainly prominent, even among the rich houses of the master merchants of port. The streets were wide avenues of stone, and over each great home, beside the banner of the trident wielding mermaid King, was the symbol of their trade. Fish, Grain, rumors ... This was the wealth of North. Jon glanced around at the men, and some strong women, wondering if they’d be equally as valuable in the battle field. The stronghold was reached at last and they were ushered inside, where very keen, well dressed servants offered bread and salt, immediately.

          “You are under my protection.” Lord Wyman partook at once, as Jon eyed the room before him.

          The main hall of New Castle was vast. Not as grand as that of Dragonstone, nor as homey as Winterfell’s but for size he’d never seen another like it. Great beams of wood canopied over an expansive area, which was filled to bursting, with the finer people of White Harbor. They were every bit as curious as their commoner counterparts, despite the fancy clothes and titles. As always, whispering followed their company, and most seemed to have to do with Daenerys.

          Lord Wyman wanted to take them right into the hall but his oldest daughter, the taller and more serious looking of the two stepped forward. “Father, our guests must rest, and be given rooms.”

          “Yes,” Lord Wyman bowed, slightly. He was a broad man and when he moved his armor clanged. “Pardon. Yes.”

          “This way Your Grace,” the girl said to the Queen, a sturdy beauty with freckles, and she smiled at Jon before saying, “Your Grace.”

           The younger of the two, a wilder looking green-haired thing, also smiled on her way past. Jon decided to subtly check Dany’s face and found that she also smiled, but it was quiet and seemingly to herself. The company followed the Manderly girls as they lead. When Daenerys was shown her rooms, Missandei moved to remove the queens white cloak and furs, and Jon lingered by the door long enough to see she wore a red dress. It dropped off her shoulders, hugging her body like her wished he could, and she looked like she was wrapped in a sheet and nothing else. His blood was rushing as he left her and though the Manderly girls were still smiling, Jon followed to his own room with a distracted mind.

          He was trying so hard not to watch the queen. They made an oath to one another, in the dark of her room, to be only allies in public, and secret lovers at nights. But then, how she smiled at the people she spoke to, how she charmed them all, and how he fell for her over and over again... It was one thing to be against her skin in the softness of her bed, and an entirely different one to be walking alongside her in the presence of so many others and without freedom, even to touch.

         “And here I thought the Manderlys would be fightin us over the Queens presence.” Ser Davos remarked, looking around the room at the wares.

          Jon laid his cloak down. “White Harbor is practically the South. If anyone would accept a Targeryen Queen it would be them. We could use their resources for our armies, it ought to be the richest city in Westeros now. for food.”

         “Do you suppose there’s ale?” Davos asked quickly.

         Jon grinned, “Lets find out.”

         Ale was brought and soon the Queens council was back together again, and this time Jon had a better look at Dany’s dress. Lord Wyman ushered them into the Hall, which fell silent at their approach, all the way to the high table. Jon saw some familiar faces but the vaster majority were strange, and not entirely Northern.At the high table, Wyman encouraged, “Please sit. We have guests eager to speak with the King and Queen.”

          The statement caught Jon’s breath slightly and he risked a look at Dany. King and Queen he said, as though....as though....And then Daenerys seating herself at the table, on the edge of her chair, as she often did, so that her feet might reach the ground. Her two closest guardians, Missandei and Greyworm stood just behind her, and Tyrion took the farther chair which left Jon to seat himself to her right. With Lord Wyman and his Banner-men beside him, Jon was sharing the center with her. When they were announced, titles flowing, by the Manderly’s Maester, the man kept saying their names together, King Jon and Queen Daenerys. It was dizzying.

          “I call upon the first who seeks audience with Queen Daenerys.” the Maester said, his powdery hair was long and wispy. “Londas Tyrell, nephew of the late Lady Olenna.”

          A tall, golden haired youth came forward staring far too much at the queen, “Your Grace, I...I confess I had come to ask, no- to demand your help avenging the Lady Olenna. I was going to lay down at your feet if that’s what it took, but when I saw you out on the docks, even the first moment I saw your face, My Queen, I believe I fell in love.”

          There was a shocked ripple through the guests, and an amused glance among the small council. Jon wanted nothing more than to throw the boy from the hall, but the queen was more tolerant. “You don’t know me, young lord.” she said softly, “you are mistaken.”

          The boy breathed in, “I do know you. And I love you.”

          “You met me only moments ago.” she answered. Jon glanced down the line of chairs at Ser Jorah, who looked every bit as annoyed as himself.

          “Be it moments ago or a thousand years ago, I am desperately in love,” he fell to his knees and Jon nearly scoffed out loud. “I beg of you to help me avenge my great Aunt, and accept me as a suitor.”

          “Those are two rather large requests, especially since I just declared a truce with Cersei.” she said, and Londas Tyrell looked baffled. And she opens her door to me every night, Jon thought to himself, but he looked at the boy with disdain. A child seeks her more directly than I did...

          “Lord Wyman, can we divert this sort of visitor for the time being.” Tyrion said quickly, and caught Jon’s eye pointedly. Jon hadn’t notice he was gripping the table in front of them tightly.

          “Yes of course,” he turned to Maester and said, “Theomore, do see that the marriage seekers are weeded out..”

          “That is what I said in the first place!” Maester Theomore scowled. “For King Jon, I have two brothers of the Umber household bringing tidings of the North.”

          Jon nodded at the two who were jostling one another through the crowd. “My King!” They cried together, “I was first.”

          “I was.” they shoved.

          “You have news of the North?” Jon demanded and they stopped their grappling.

          “Your Grace,” said one, “Our master told us not to come, but my brother insisted and the house of Umber does not support his claims-”

          “Claims? I claim to hear what you’ve heard, but your so daft you don’t understand it,” the brother said to his brother and then turned to Jon. “Your Grace, I heard great rumblings North of the wall, and smashings, and hard noises of that sort.”

          “Rumblings and smashings?” Jon repeated.

          The first brother piped up, “We don’t support his claims.”

          “Seven curse you, I heard it!”

          “My brother heard the wall weep, and crumble, Your Grace. Nothing more.”

          “It’s bloody winter!?” the second brother cried. “Then I saw-”

          “Oh don’t tell him what you saw, I beg you.”

          Jon interrupted, “What did you see?”

          “My King, I saw the wall- when it shuddered.”

          “Shuddered.” Jon got a strange chill.

          “As though a great wave traveled through it, and on down it. I swear it Your Grace. We’ve been running sheep in that area for generations, and we grew up watching the wall. I’ve never seen a thing like this.”

          The other brother sighed, “You’ve been dreaming about the wall, and making up stories about Wildlings, and fables. Why don’t you include that part.”

          Maester Theomore glanced back at Jon, “There have been no ravens to corroborate this.”

          Jon had been considering the wall breached for weeks, but hearing whispers that it might be true, was startling. The two brothers were Umber’s men, and headed back North anyways. “You two I task with discovering the truth.” They two suddenly stood a little taller, and far more silent. “Go North and ask anyone you can find what the state of the wall is. Check in at inns and strongholds, gather rumors, and send ravens to Winterfell, anywhere you can.”

         They nodded, both with fire in their eyes and when they left they were no longer shoving one another but moving together with a purpose. The murmuring that followed made the color in Jon’s face rise.The next man to approach did so unannounced, and it seemed as though the Maester was much confused by him even though he looked a very wealthy and important man by how he was dressed.

         “My Lord...” Theomore paused, “I do not recognize this one. Lord...Carborne? Whom do you seek?”

         “A man has not given his name,” he said, and bowed low. “And he is seeking safe passage to Winterfell.”

         “What business do have there?” Jon demanded.

         The man incline his red head. “A man has his own business.”

         “Whom do you represent?” Jon asked him.

         The man was not exactly powerful or dangerous looking, until he looked on Jon with steely gray eyes. “A man serves the Many Faced God.”

         “That isn’t a god of Westeros.”

         “No,” Daenerys answered Jon, and watched the man in front of them, warily, “His temple is in Braavos.”

         “A girl knows it.” the mans eyes warmed.

         “I lived there, once.” Jon could help but notice how wistful her voice was.

         His hair had a strong white streak, and was held back. He stood with his body to the side, like a swordsman, and looked on them all as though he knew exactly how to win if it should come to a fight. He smiled slightly and answered the Queen. “A man knows this. In a house with a red door, and a lemon tree outside. A man came to this house once...” Daenerys breath escaped her, and Jon heard it. His gaze flicked from her to the man. “At this house was a small girl in the yard. A man watched this girl, with hair like the moon, and eyes the color of the sky after a storm. She dreamed, and stared far off. She nursed little things to health, and she was a comrade of the servants of the house. Then a man saw the girls brother, and he was selfish. He struck the girl, killed her broken things, and punished the servants.”

          Jon couldn’t stop his eyes trailing over her during his words, watching her react to the words, her beautiful, bare shoulders rolled with each breath she took. She was a lonely child, his heart went out to her, so was I. If I’d been with her I would have driven her hateful brother from her home. But that was an absurd thought.

         “You watched us,” Dany confirmed softly, “And may I ask, who commissioned a man of the Many Faced God to murder two children.”

         “A man regrets, this knowledge is not given to a servant. But when a man goes back to speak with the Many Faced God, he shares the knowledge he gained. A girl was spared.”

         “As was my brother.”

         The man bowed softly, “A servant does not question.”

         Daenerys considered him for a moment, and leaned her head closer to Tyrion, who whispered something to her. After a moment she turned to Jon, and leaned in, to whisper, “I would allow him to travel with us, what do you say?”

         Jon frowned. “That’s an absurd idea. He was going to kill you.”

         “He didn’t.” she answered. “It seems strange but it almost feels like a debt...”

         Jon looked her over, “Fine then. But have him keep his distance.”

         Dany smiled, with that look she had. The one where he felt entirely found out by her and then she turned back to the mysterious man. “You are granted safe travel with us to Winterfell. We leave at first light.”

         The man bowed once more, and then backed away, and vanished into the crowd. There were more visitors. Many families swearing fealty to the queen, confessing that they’d been secretly cheering for her for years, which seemed to make her slightly amused. She accepted them, and some even came to Jon, swearing they would only follow him, which was rather tense at times, but the afternoon wore on until at last Lord Wyman stood an told the guests there would be a banquet that night for the highborn, and the Royal party and asked that they be left to prepare. There came next a great shift of environment. They rose from the table, as the great hall emptied, and the small council walked with the Queen to her guest quarters eager to talk about the news and events. She listened, but Jon felt perhaps that she wasn’t fully listening. He did not go to his own room. Eventually the council began to leave.

          “May I speak alone with you, my Queen?” Jon said and slowed a few of them down. Dany blushed just slightly, but nodded to dismiss Missandei. She did not catch the look passed between Varys and Tyrion before they closed the chamber door.

          Her eyes were to the ground, but he waited and they very slowly lifted up to Jon. Suddenly, he couldn’t stand the distance any longer, and crossed the room to her, noting that she neither moved toward him, nor did she do anything to stop him. So long did he kiss her, as though he’d been away for years, that they were both short of breath after. Her arms and body, he felt every bit of her within the fabric of the red gown.

          “This dress...” he touched the skin just about her neckline. “is driving me mad.”

          “I could have sworn it was the guests,” she whispered in the close spaces between them.

           Jon scowled, “Renegades all, I wish Lord Wyman had kept them away. Especially the young one.”

          She smiled that same smile that told Jon he was being transparent again, “It is an intriguing thought though.” she remarked, looping her arms around his neck, “To suddenly feel intense love for someone the moment one sees them. Do you think such a thing is even possible?”

          Jon looked her over thoroughly, seeing her sitting on her throne again in his memories eye, small, poised, bewitching. Hair like the moon, the strange mans words came back to him, and eyes the color of the sky after a storm... “Yes.” he said at last. “Yes, I do.”

          Her face was softly pink, “Jon....Avy jorraelan.”

          He didn’t know what it meant, he never did, but it did something to him, inside. He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs fluidly around him, as though more than ready. Pushing back her curls, he kissed her more greedily than he supposed a nobleman should, carrying her to the nearest wall, and pressing her back against it. He was driven by jealousy he supposed, but when he broke away, she was flushed and her breathing was shallow. Her breasts were her rising and falling fast, and her colorful eyes were reduced to small rings around black. Jon’s hands moved up her dress, scrambling, searching for-

          Fuck, he stopped, with his fingers inside of her, She is wetter than water. He tore the front of his clothing open as best he could, and against the wall he entered her, fast and hard, once, twice. Then with the third, her body convulsed and when a loud cry escaped her, Jon stopped it with his own mouth.

          “Shhhh...” he said around her lips. But he could feel her releasing on his cock, and the shudder through her small frame, her sudden limpness. His knees were growing weak with it, but again he looked at her, red of cheek and lip, searching his face. You know me, girl. he silently urged himself in deeper, You are mine. And then he began in earnest. Every thrust rippled through her body, he could see it in her breasts, and feel it in how her hair bounced against his fingers. He could feel it in her legs around him, she gripped where ever she could. Against the wall behind her, or clinging to his shoulders, every breath she took was a gasp, in rhythm with his own.

          They became something new like this, a thing made up of two people so connected it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other took over. Jon had only felt matched in his want by her own want for him. She is the only one who can stop this, and she hasn’t. Maybe he’d been a fool to tell her he loved her.... She’d not said it back yet. Not in words, but together under cloaks with naught to separate them but their own skin, she said it there in her eyes and her actions, in her face and in her mouth... I would endure all seven hell’s for her mouth.

          Whatever we are, with our bodies locked together like this, Jon stared at her after reaching his own finality, every time I taste her skin, and every time she lays her own beautiful mouth on me. More and more the feeling is seeping into my bones. I feel I have found my way. Impossible, he told himself over and over, that the love for a girl was enough to feel I am home...


	2. White Harbor 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning comes to the Queens council before they take to the Kings Road

         Sunset over White Harbor was salmon pink, and the city came alive with bells the echoed off the silhouettes of it’s many towers, as though all the Mermaid warriors at their tops, were about to have an aquatic battle. Jon was on the tallest, the middle turret of New Castle, as it was the best vantage point he could find for a look towards the North. Great crashings and rumblings, they had said, and a tremor running through the wall. If that was true, and he had every obligation to believe it was so, then it was a virtual race to Winterfell. Stopping in this city, even for a night was almost reckless. He knew of course, that moving ground forces quickly was complicated if not impossible. The next few days would be a challenge for anyone, but the cold wild kissed at his cheeks and whispered a warning against his neck.

         Jon did not even shiver, but turned from the North and tramped back down the turret. From the higher points of the fortress, the busy town was intriguing, perhaps a place he would have found interesting , if the times were not so dark. But there was no fired smoke in the air, and no comforting hearth in the great hall of the castle, like home. Winterfell awaited, and now Jon was eager to be there. He made his way into the stairwell, ready to be done with the feast and on the road already. Especially since Lord Wyman’s daughters were following him around like Arya and Bran.

         “Thought you wouldn’t come to the feast.” the green-haired one was the first person to notice that Jon had returned from his visit outdoors.

         “Can you spare the food to have a feast?” he threw back at her, “What with winter settling in.”

         “We are rich in fresh food, King Jon.” said the older sister, who was also in the hall, seemingly waiting for him to emerge. “It is both a blessing and curse. Abundance must not go to waste, when the rest of the country is starving.”

         Jon stared at the pair of them. They were pretty things, and formidably clever. Either of them would be suitable as the Steward of the Norths wife, and both of them seemed eager for it. To everyone here in White Harbor, it would have been a natural match and Daenerys was still his enemy, in their eyes. But Jon knew that were times different he would have watched Robb and Theon pursue these pretty two, to their beds, and they would never have turned their eyes upon a bastard in the stables. Once he would have been happy with either, now he had no interest in both.

         “Then we feast. And I thank you for it.” Jon answered and turned to leave.

         “The dragon queen-” began the older one, and he turned around to face her. “We proudly offer our abundance to her troops, and company, but she is insisting that we spare food for her savages as well, and-”

         Jon scoffed. “The curse of abundance does not weigh too heavily on you, if you cannot extend hospitality to everyone equally.”

         The green haired girl crossed her arms, “See. I knew he would take my side.”

         The older scowled and then placed a pleasant look on her face. “It is only that we have already opened our market to them, and they have not been very grateful.”

         “You cannot expect them to act like trained lords,” her sister argued.

         Jon looked over his shoulder to the hall below and caught sight of Ser Davos. “Excuse me ladies.” he said, very smoothly he felt, “I must ask Ser Davos something.”

         The feasting had began already, Jon noted on his way down the massive, solid staircase. Several men were loitering with ale and pretty girls along the steps, while music filled the great spaces where the conversation had risen in volume and color. Some danced, some ate, but most had abandoned their chairs to talk or sing, or drink. A feast such as this, Jon was never allowed to attend as a boy, and now as he walked through the great hall, people bowed to him, cheered for him, and drank ale in his name. So strange was it for him that he supposed he’d never grow used to it.

         Davos joined him mid-hall, saying, “The Queen has received an unexpected guest just now. Thought ye ought to know.”

         With one steady glance around, Jon noticed that her entire small council was missing from the feast, and some of her Dothraki guardians. He suddenly could not get to Dany’s side fast enough, and strode out of the hall quickly, Davos right behind him. “What sort of guest?” Jon asked him lowly as they walked.

         “A man only, no others with him.” Davos answered, “Used to be some sort of sell-sword, I think he said.”

         THE sell-sword? Jon wondered. No, not likely. But what if? They’d taken up in a smaller room off the great hall, where there was a man indeed. But he was bowing low to the ground on his knee, while Greyworm, Ser Jorah, and several of her massive guards held their weapons at him. Tyrion flooded him with questions and just a little farther off, Daenerys observed it all. So tense was she that Jon and Davos hardly made a ripple when they joined the room.

         “And here is another who wouldn’t be pleased to hear you threatened the Queen.” Tyrion nodded at Jon.

         “I did not threaten, sir!” the man answered from the pile he made of himself on the ground. “I meant what I said as warning.”

         “You warn with a weapon drawn?” Tyrion snapped.

         Dany approached, “You said someone wanted kill me, but you did not offer up how you know this information. You may stand, and do so now.”

         The man was old, with grubby gray hair and a weathered face. He stood tall, now he was allowed to, and nodded at Dany gratefully. “Apologies for a man who has lost many of his gentler manners with old age. But I feel it is important to warn that the Golden Company has broken it’s current contract with Myr and taken up a new one.”

         She lifted her chin, “They’ve never broken a contract before, why should they do so now.”

         The man bowed his ashen head, “Because the target is worth more than many of them shall ever see in their lifetime. And gold.. well, the Company loves gold.”

         “How much gold?” Tyrion stepped closer to the man.

         “More than a Lannister can manage.” the man laughed.

         Daenerys turned her head ever so slightly, “You know this, how?”

         “I was once very close to the Commander.”

         “I truly doubt that, my queen.” said Jorah.

         She watched the man thoughtfully, while Jon watched her. All strength, and impeccable confidence, much like when he’d first met her. She hid her vulnerabilities well enough, but he knew her now, and wanted nothing more then to stand beside her.

         “You have the look of Prince Rhaegar, Your Grace.” the man spoke first.

         “Who are you?” Jorah Mormont demanded.

         “How did you know the Prince?” cried Tyrion.

          Dany approached him further, pushing back her protectors just a bit. “I’ve been told before that I was more like him then anyone else in my family.” She mused, and then faced the man, “I was also told that, despite being a skilled fighter, there was something he enjoyed far more than killing. Do you know what that was?”

          The man smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Rhaegar loved to sing.” he said. “ I’d completely forgotten. I am Jon Connington, Your Grace, although lately I’ve been traveling under the name of Griff.”

          “I know that name,” Jorah said, at once, “I remember you were cast out of the Company for thieving the gold chests.”

          “You remember what Myles made you remember.”

           Jorah lowered his sword slightly, “Myles was a wise man, but his time passed. There is a new commander now.”

          “Homeless Harry Strickland is no leader of mine!” bellowed the man, Jon Connington. “He can sit atop his piles of gold and rot. No army would follow that drunken lout.”

           Tyrion nodded, “You want to place yourself there instead?”

           Jon Connington sighed, “I am too tired for more failed plots, and disappointments. I’ve spent years chasing names, and following lies. My heart has been slit in two.”

           “Then why warn me?” Daenerys did not seem quick to believe him.

           “Maybe I’m a fool, maybe I have it right. It’s for the gods to know,” Jon Connington showed his years in his stance, “But there is something that the Golden Company wants more than gold, and if someone can offer it to them they may be convinced, not just to break a contract, but to break the Company down altogether.”

           “And what is that?” Daenerys asked him.

           “A chance to come home, Your Grace. To get their names back, or in some cases to get names in the first place.”

           Tyrion glanced at the queen. “They are not without fault though, many are reprobates and criminals.” It was Varys who spoke up now.

           “I’ve heard you scheme before, Lord Varys.” Jon Connington said quickly.

           “And you sir?” Varys shot back, “It was very odd to hear the Prince had fallen, and Connington was not at his side all those years ago.

           The man gripped his hands together so tightly that the leather of his gloves squeaked.

           Jon noticed that Grey Worm was standing quite near to Missandei, and that Ser Jorah still had his hand upon his sword hilt, and was hovering close to the queen. Though the old fighter appeared to be alone, Jon had swept the room a few times, and paced by the windows watching for a threat. The Golden Company... He suddenly wished he’d not been so single-minded, and had insisted Dany fly to Winterfell. She would be there by now and none of this would even matter.

           “I’ve not come to discuss the past, I’ve come to save your future, Your Grace. And perhaps the Company’s.”

           Dany folded her hands together. Jon realized she did this now, to stop them shaking. “Sir,” she began, “I am not loved in the Free Cities. If it weren’t for the Red Preistesses work, I would be loathed in fact. Abolishing slavery is not a popular action among the elite of Essos, and many lost entire fortunes when I won Slaver’s Bay. Why on earth would the strongest hands of Essos choose to support me, over whoever else is paying them, even if I do offer them safe return to Westeros?”

           “All it takes is for them to know it, what you would be willing to do for them.”

          “Queen Daenerys is here now, her work in Essos has come to an end,” Tyrion answered at once.

          “Send someone to them,” Jon Connington said.

          “And you wish to be the one to do this.” Tyrion said wryly. “So that they know precisely how to deceive us.

          “I’ve said before, I’m out of this cursed game.”

          “Then who?” Tyrion growled.

          “You’ve a sell-sword posted in Meereen.” Jon Connington nodded at Daenerys. Her eyes widened slightly. “I know Daario N’haris. I’ve asked him to join the Golden Company for many years now. He’s always told me the times were not lined up right. The Second Sons, another venture...a woman he couldn’t seem to be torn away from.” Jon Connington paused, and her cheeks flushed slightly. “ but perhaps now is the time he will say yes.”

          Silence followed. Her eyes had trailed to Jon, the first acknowledgment she made of him being in the room. The name was not familiar to Jon, but he did know of a certain sell-sword who lived in Meereen, and something started churning inside of him towards this faceless man across the world. A lot like how he’d felt about Ser Jorah, only sharper, deadlier. It came completely unbidden and he tried his best to hide it.

          “Daario is to remain is Essos.” she said very firmly to Connington and Jon felt a surge of love for her.

          The old man shook his gray head. “Then you’ve as good as chopped off your sword hand.”

          Annoyed, Jon felt himself insisting, “The Queens defenses are sound, sir.”

          Jon Connington turned around and surveyed Jon Snow from head to toe. “The King Jon Snow, uh? You don’t look anything like a Stark, Your Grace, if I may say. Your Queen may be well guarded indeed, but the Company is on her trail, and they are a hard force to beat.” He turned back to Dany, “Send for Daario and the Golden Company is yours. They would listen to him, and only he can convince them that you are the better Queen to follow.”

          Daenerys had grown quiet. “And how do you know that I am?”

         “Because I see Rhaegar’s own eyes staring back at me, now.” Jon Connington answered. “And it is as though the Iron Throne and all of Westeros is about to be set right again.”

         Jon watched her breath in hard and then calm herself breathing out. “I.. I will consider what you have suggested sir and heed your warning. I beg you leave us now, I have much to discuss with my council.”

         He bowed once, and retreated. Davos stood and made sure he was far from the room before closing the door.

        “Considering the risk vs reward-” Tyrion began.

        “I won’t have Daario Nharis negotiating anything on my behalf.” Daenerys cut him off. “Not even for ten thousand men.”

         Jon felt so much relief flooding inside of him, that he very nearly came over and took her hand.

         “If you need someone to speak to this Commander, I will do it.” Ser Jorah told her. “I will seek him out if need be.”

         “Hell. I will kill the man if it would break the contract.” Jon added, though beside him Davos shuffled a bit.

         Dany smiled, warmly. “Ser Davos, be easy. Your King is only speaking recklessly.”

         “Aye. Your Grace.” Davos replied.  
  
         “But the Golden Company are not who we are fighting,” Dany met Jon’s eyes, “Not yet anyway.”

         “My Queen, now is the time to fly.” Ser Jorah said again, “There are threats on all sides now.”

         “I will not. I am not a coward, Ser Jorah” Dany frowned. “Some winged conqueror will not be the first image people in the North see of me. No, I will travel the Kingsroad as we’d planned.”

         “But you heard the man, Your Grace. The Company is after you.”

         “You trust him, then?” she threw back at Ser Jorah. Then she turned to Tyrion, “And you?”

         “Trust him?” the Hand scoffed, “Not entirely, but it doesn’t hurt to at least heed his warning.”

         “Unless his warning is a deception.” Daenerys paced. Jon rested his hand on Longclaw, and watched her. In the red dress she wore, it was easy to do so. “There is no right way, and so I must do what I feel is right...”

         “And I would like to add once again that some of us feel you should be disguised.” Tyrion added.

         Dany folded her arms but Jon nodded, and said, “I agree with Tyrion.”

         She blew out her breath in exasperation and paced again, but Missandei spoke next, “If we disguise her, she cannot ride with her khalasar... Is that really the safest idea?”

         Daenerys raised her brows meaningfully at Jon and he turned his head slightly, wishing he was alone with her that very moment.

         “Unsullied will ride with her.” Greyworm said. “She can dress as Unsullied.”

          Tyrion began to nod, “Yes, this is an idea...and perhaps a decoy that looks like-”

          “No.” Daenerys stopped him, “No one will risk dying for me. I will wear the disguise and ride with the Unsullied but I won’t have someone else at risk.”

          Most were very obviously satisfied with this, though Ser Jorah still looked uneasy. “Ten thousand potential enemies could very easily become allies, if what Jon Connington said was true.” he growled, “On the other hand, they are probably tracking us now, planning an attack.”

           “They would be fools to attack us.” she replied, “We have Drogon and Rhaegal watching always.” Jon frowned to himself. Even if they cannot see her? “You are my Captain, what do you think?” Daenerys asked Greyworm.

          “This one prepares for traps always, in any way chosen.” he replied.

          Jon felt himself nodding. “Aye. It is wise to be prepared.”

          “Well then. Let us prepare,” remarked Tyrion. “Are we to fall back to Moat Cailin or try our luck breaking for the Kings Road North?”

          Jon thought it over briefly. “We’d be in Winterfell sooner if we went North, and the Barrowlands are open, hard to be attacked on.”

          Ser Jorah squared his shoulders. Jon knew he did not approve of the plans, and perhaps he should have supported the old knight and insisted Daenerys fly. But Jorah Mormont would not be holding her close later that night, to have his words come back and haunt him, as Jon might.

         “Then My Queen, I believe we have a course set.” Tyrion replied. “Tonight let us rest our bones in beds for the last time, and we should return to this lavish feast.”

         “Mmm.” Varys mused, “ I’ve never tasted an ale that reminded me more of fish.”

         The council dispersed the side room, until Jon and Daenerys remained only, staring at one another. Though he’d been so very close to her several times now, Jon still had trouble catching his breath when he was alone with her. As his Queen, she was fierce and formidable, but as his Dany her sudden vulnerability was so seductive it drew him in. Slowly, hand upon Longclaw, he drew closer and closer to her.

         “Only a small stretch of road left.” he told her softly.

         She sighed heavily, “I wonder if I will ever be free of my enemies.”

         “I fear when I rid myself of one I make two more.” Jon answered her. “No one has taken me down yet.”

         Her eyes flicked up to his face, “Your enemies appeared to have tried.”

         Jon swallowed hard. Yes, of course she’d seen the evidence of it all over him, only at those times when his clothes were off there were too many other things happening to speak of it. “Another time.” he said, “Another life.” He stepped into the last bit of space between them and touched her face softly. “And I stand here with you, while they are ashes in the wind.”

         “I don’t know if you are invincible Jon Snow.” she said, leaning into him so that her nose touched his chin, “but I pray you are.”

         Only seconds into what was sure to be a wonderful kiss, the door opened and a woman's voice broke them apart, at once. The older of the Manderley girls stood wide-eyed and rapidly flushing red, in the doorway. “I beg pardon!” she cried and retreated so quickly, Jon had no choice but to laugh.’

         “She will tell her father?” Dany looked startled.

         “No doubt. Isn’t that what a lady of the house does?”

         Daenerys frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve never been taught how to be a lady of the house.”

         “I’ve not been taught how to be a lord, either.”

         “What a pair we are.” Dany smiled at him, and he kissed her again.

         This time she broke the embrace, “They will talk...”

         “Let them talk,” Jon pressed on, “I’m through with caring.”

         “Jon,” she whispered, her eyes closed and he noticed how upset she really was.

         “What is it?”

         “I am afraid Jon.”

         “Don’t be,” Jon sighed, and hugged her, “I will be just ahead of you and I trust your Captain with do anything he can to keep you safe.”

         “No,” she pushed back, “I’m afraid of what I feel for you. I am terrified of what would happen to me if I lost you.”

         Jon nodded, surveyed her face, and imagined for a moment a wilder one. Softly he said, “We’ve all lost someone-”

        “A love Jon?” Dany’s gaze was sharp, “Not a brother or even a father-”

        “I lost a wildling girl.” Jon felt himself saying, “I broke my vows for her. I loved her. But a lad I trained shot her through the heart with an arrow... she died in my arms.”

        She stared, and slowly pulled him into a soft embrace. Then with her head against his shoulder said, “I gave all that I had trying to bring my husband back and in the end I had to take his life myself. I’m just a girl still, but I’ve learned that love does not belong in this game.”

        Jon was recalling what Igritte had said to him once, long ago, and repeated as well as he could remember. “Death will come to us all, but first, we will live.”

       “Jon Snow.” when she kissed him, he memorized the way her lips felt, half on his lips. “You never stop surprising me.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was either terribly late or far too early, which ever one chose, when Daenerys realized her mind was still racing, and sleep was far from her. And for a week her rests had been long and heavy. She new why. There was a little ache in her belly constantly for the same reason. The night stretched, and she lay hopelessly awake, until at last she rose determinedly and crossed the black, silent hall. She had to knock twice when she got there, and Jon was all confusion and eye-rubbing. Overcome with uncertainty, Dany searched for an excuse or explanation and had just opened her mouth to speak when he snagged her by her waist, and pulled her into his room. Shortly after, she slipped back across the hall to her bed, and into a satisfying sleep.

Though the rising was early and she ate her breakfast in the gray breaking light, it was nearly midday when her armies crossed the bridge to the west of White Harbor and truly set off for Winterfell. Jon had been convinced to lead the party, to stay visible and identifiable. He was hating it, she imagined. Not the sort to revel in praise, Jon was probably uncomfortable every time someone shouted, 'The King in the North!' and they shouted that gratuitously, she noticed. The Dothraki were last of all, their camps followers trailing on for miles hunting about as much as traveling. Toward the middle of the convoy was the Unsulllied, and somewhere within she marched and shivered. Though it seemed like just a precaution before, now that they were traveling Dany was grateful for the disguise but the North was nothing like the hot winds of Essos and she felt it's sting right into her bones.

But where is Drogon, and Rhaegal? she wondered for the hundredth time. The last word from scouts was that they had flown North, and it made her nervous-

"Unsullied do not look up so much." Greyworm said in a low voice. He'd stayed as close as he could and guided her as the road grew rough and her joints stiff with cold.

"Not even to watch for dragons?" she whispered back.

"Only then." he answered after considerable time.

The trudging was hard because of the snow underfoot. She was used to sand and grass, but then, so were Greyworm and all the men around, and their steps never faltered or tired. Hours were passing, she could tell by the sun, and every time she wanted to stop and ask for a horse, she thought of the rest of them walking for her as she asked them to, and was glad to know what they went through. Though she stumbled many times, she kept pace with them. At least moving kept some parts of her warm.

The wind shifted and she caught a strange sound from the patch of trees they were passing to the left of them. A sound that made her jump and turn around.

"Did you hear that?" she asked Greyworm.

"No My Queen. Hear what?"

"There was.." but it was silent now. She had just been imagining it.

"We must keep moving."

Again she heard the sound and suddenly knew it for what it was. A baby. I can hear a baby crying in those trees.

"There," she grasped Greyworm, "A child... Do you hear it?"

"No My Queen!"

"Some one has to save it!"

She fled suddenly, breaking out of the perfect formation of the Unsullied. Greyworm was close behind warning her, begging her to fall back in.

"Be careful for deceptions, My Queen."

"But it is so near!" Dany slipped in the snow and drove herself on. "Greyworm keep near to me."

He followed diligently, and somewhere inside her gut she felt guilty but the baby sounded desperate, probably freezing! The snow grew deep and she felt it tumble into the cracks of the armor, but still pushed through, until finally she broke into the trees and saw a blanket writhing on top of a log pile.

"There now," she called, but the crying didn't stop. "Someone has left him there all alone."

"My Queen." Greyworms voice was filled with concern, "I see nothing."

She turned to her Commander, to cry how absurd that was, but his face halted her. He was serious. Now she had to see, what thing was there that seemingly only she could see and hear. And now the thing had stopped it's crying. She peered in at it, and saw just what she thought she would. A sweet sleeping thing, just born. She stepped a little closer, and it's eyes opened. Daenerys flinched at it's cold blue stare and watched it morph from a perfect child into a scaled misshapen thing. Not human. A long black tail roped itself around her wrist, and she felt it's teeth sinking and clamping into then soft skin between her thumb and fingers.

She winced and Greyworm slice his sword down just beyond her outstretched arm. The dragon-baby shifted into a blue mist and Greyworm gasped, "This is Essos magic! We must find a healer."

Dany held her hand and felt a porous, oozing cold begin to steal up her arm. "I thought I had left all my enemies behind, defeated." she shivered, and glanced at the trees all around her, "I've been a fool."

Greyworm also peered around at the forest, "Something is wrong."

Daenerys covered the wound, expecting it to be cold to the touch, but it was not. "Let's return, this can wait until we reach Winterfell."

But the cold was really seeping into her, and chattering her teeth. Greyworm stopped her from falling a few times, and she knew he was watching her carefully. They left the trees and plowed across the dirty snow, trying to join the party on the road. Dany was slowing them, she knew it, but she could hardly move her legs forward. Every step was an agony of prickles, as though her whole body had gone numb and were slowly regaining it's feeling. She finally stopped entirely.

"You must go on and get help, Greyworm." she closed her eyes for a moment, swaying on her spot.

"My Queen, this one will stay."

She smiled and opened her eyes, but saw that he looked past her now, and his eyes were wide. From the trees there burst a long line of golden horsemen, shining and large, and they fell upon the Unsullied with huge war cries that filled the road with sound and action. They spilled into the convoy and broke it apart, slashing and swiping their big broadswords down at her troops. Dany cried out when she saw three Unsullied fall under the hooves of a gilded stallion, it's rider whooping in celebration.

"Greyworm! You must help them!' she shouted, but he stayed by her side.

They were soon besieging him as well, and he kept them well at bay. Dany noticed one of the riders was cloaked in a midnight black cloak, hood pulled and shot arrows over swinging the great-swords of his partners. This rider, she saw one second, and the next he was elsewhere, too fast to even see. Her fear was growing, and when she saw that this cloaked attacker was aiming his arrows at Greyworm she screamed a warning. But it was too late.

Greyworm took an arrow to his leg and his chest. They hit with the loudest sound she'd ever heard, and almost felt like they were ripping into her. Her Captain dropped to his knee, grunting. The arrow was close to his shoulder, Dany realized with relief, but still he fell. She wavered. Tempted to fall alongside him and give up. She turned around to face the trees, and saw that a rider watched her, and now that she was relieved of her protector, he urged his horse closer.

He carried a gold-tipped spear, and wore a golden helmet, sprouting a long red tail. The rings on his arms were so numerous they nearly reached his elbows, which be-told of his many successful contracts as a sell-sword. She'd spent enough time with Daario to know this man was dangerous. And she was not hidden any longer, for she could feel that her hair had come free and blew all around in the wind. She could fight, she had a sword, and there was the small dagger she always carried...but it was underneath all her armor and the cold was making her rattle inside it. She felt her eyes lift up to the cold blue sky.

Drogon...Rhaegal, she thought, I need you so desperately!

The rider drew close, and she tried all she could to lift the sword, but everything had stopped working properly and instead she shivered and glared. When he reached down to take up the bulk of her hair in his fingers, she could do nothing, so much of her was paralyzed. She wondered if this was the commander of the riders, and knew it had to be the Golden Company, as all of them were showy and richly outfitted.

It seemed they both realized they heard something at around the same time, and turned together towards the source. The sound was her name, over and over again, being called over the din of the dwindling raid, and it was marked by the urgency. She knew the voice well.

The rider spotted Jon at once riding in a dead line to them, and when he lunged forward, his horse knocked Dany to the ground. Her heart stopped as she watched the sell-sword hit full speed, with Jon barreling straight towards him. Though the riders sword was huge and swung around skillfully, Jon dodged everything the man tried, and knocked him off his ride rather quickly. At first they had seemed well-matched but Jon was soon spinning his sword, tripping and slashing him. She felt such over whelming relief that she laid back at last.

Time felt like it had warped. One second she was up in the clouds, and the next Jon was gathering her up in his arms, but she could hardly hear or feel it. She knew she should feel afraid, but there was a strange spreading calm, and the only thing that really felt cold anymore was her nose and lips. In fact she smiled at Jon, touched his cheek with her hand, all blue and poisoned looking, and said, "I am alright now. But Greyworm-"

"We will see to him." Jon shook her, "Dany, stay awake, you hear?"

She wanted to, and she supposed she was, but the world was becoming one of shadows, dim and empty. There were more vivid souls appearing in front of her now. Her new allies who had perished, a girl with red hair, and a father, a mother and a two sons grouped together. She saw the men she'd executed, even the slave in Meereen. They paced and watched her. Her brother even was there, though distant and he stared at her with his same damning hatred. Of all of them, the only one who spoke was the red-haired girl she didn't know. She whispered in Dany's ear, and sent a shiver throughout her body that seemed to wake her up just enough.

"Jon?" she focused on his face, and the cold air hit her hard. "I'm to tell you... that you still know nothing."

He reacted so strangely, as though she'd stabbed him through the heart. She wanted to stay, to understand what she had just said, but the warmth of not caring was tempting her back into it. Waning light told her she was fading fast. And the vivid figures even were beginning to grow dim."No... Fight Dany!" she heard him arguing, even growing angry. "You stay awake, Daenerys! Don't you close your eyes!"

There was commotion, and suddenly a strange face appeared in front of her. It was familiar, calculating steely eyes and shaggy red hair with a white streak through one side. "A girl has enemies in the House of the Undying?"

Dany roused slightly. "Yes. But I killed the Warlocks...and what was left..." She noticed him then, in the strange spirit world she somehow saw. Ser Barristan was the only one who smiled at her.

"What was left has returned." the man turned to the others who were still shadowy, as though there were dark veils over their faces. For some reason this strange man from Braavos was still plainly visible, and she heard him say, "Nightshade is in her wound. The queen cannot move but is aware still... though she will be passing through the shadow soon." Someone asked the man a question and he answered with, "She will if a boy can get her Winterfell in time. The cure is easy enough to prepare, but a man would need the supplies of a Maester."

There was conversation, and Dany tried so hard to listen to it but in a split second everything changed. There was sudden chaos, and a spray of snow across her face, and muffled shouting, and fighting. The ground trembled beneath her body, thundering with the hooves of many horses, and that was the only way she could deduce that the attack had began again. It raged. She could hear the muffled yells, and clanging of weapons, the garish cries of dying horses. And then a face appeared to block the sky from her. A devilish face wearing an overconfident grin.

"Hello love," Euron Greyjoy smiled, gleefully, "I told you I'd see you again." He cackled and crouched over her, pulling her off the snow and, like a child's doll, she flopped powerlessly up onto his horse. Quietly, stealthily, Euron slipped away from the fight.


	4. White Harbor to Winterfell

White Harbor Part 4

        Sunset was fast approaching, adding to the darkness that was already growing in Jon’s eyes. The small company of Ser Jorah, Jharro, Davos and Tyrion held behind him mostly as they rode down the wide and obvious trail left by the Golden Company and leading south towards Moat Cailin. There had been debate over who would join the search, and who would lead the armies on to Winterfell. The second in command of the Unsullied was called Strong Ben, and a handful of Khals to lead the screamers. Missandei rode with Greyworm as fast as they could ahead, and the rest kept up their march North. The rest refused to stay behind and so Jon led them, and bore down on the trampled ground, ignoring the armies, the call of his home, and the companions behind him. Ignoring everything but her.  
They’d rode all afternoon, hard on the Company’s heels. Jon considered them pompous and dirty fighters. Everyone he’d brought down was done so by the man’s own pride. Furthermore they were overtly bold to attack such a force in the broad light of day and steal away their queen. The force that pressed suddenly in on them, sent the middle of the convoy into chaos, and it was within this time Jon was led slightly away from her, just enough for them to snatch her. Chiding himself was the lightest of terms for what had been going on within him. Worse still was when the supposed leader of the Golden Company rode close to them, after the discovery that Daenerys had been taken.  
“The Queen sends you her regards,” he had called, merry of tone. “She shall where the bitch’s silver hair before two nights have passed.” Then, horse lunging, he bled into the fight and dissipated, and soon all were retreating and the attack was slowly dying down. The riders had been a successful enough distraction, and the few that were left saw the vengeful edge of Jon’s blade. But no matter how many he killed, she was still gone.  
The marshlands in the Neck were harsh and cold, colder to Jon than the Wall. The sort that crept inside your bones and made them ache. The trees were strange too, like gnarled hands of the dead thrust up to the sky. One such tree stopped them, along their path, as from it’s largest bow there hung several golden armoured foreigners, their riches and ring almost completely stripped. The search party looked around them at the craggy landscape and shivered.  
“This is hostile land,” said Ser Jorah.  
“The Neck,” Jon answered, “They have their own rules.”  
“The crannogmen?” Tyrion remarked. He’d chanced a flighty horse, who’d have rather kept moving. “Are they actually real?”  
Jon glanced his way, “Not afraid?”  
“I’m just more inclined to believe in the impossible, now. And yes, maybe a little.”  
“Then you are wise.” Jon spat on the ground and watched the warriors dangle, “The crannogmen have powers like the Children of the Forest. I suppose we all believe in things now.”  
They rode on, but at a slower pace until a voice slowed Jon to a stop. “Jon Snow,” it called out, “Last word was that you’d died.”  
The party glanced this and that way, and Jhorro pulled his curved blade out from behind him, but Jon raised his hand to stop him. The voice was not threatening, and whoever it was knew about him already. “Greetings to you and the House Reed.” he called back.  
“I am the House Reed!” and a thin man emerged from the odd trees, closer then Jon realized. He held a bow taller then himself, and his clothes were dark as the forest and mud splattered. His face was thin, beard grey and short, and his eyes were on Jon at once. “I am Howland, and I knew Ned Stark well. I knew all the Starks well.”  
Jon glanced slightly around to see if any more deeply clothed hunters were around, not that he’d be able to spot them anyway. “I have heard your name before.”  
“Aye,” Howland answered and leapt down to a fallen log new them. He had to be sprinting out of middle age, but the man was as spry as Jon remembered Bran to be. “My foolhardy offspring ran off to aid the Starks. They never returned.”  
“I’ve heard tell of a girl...a Reed girl, escorted my brother Brandon beyond the wall, and brought him home again,” Jon paused. The look on Reed’s face was not a good one, and Jon recalled then that there had been no mention of Hodor in the raven either.  
“These times are truly dark,” Reed said quietly, “I did not think I would outlive my boy...”  
Jon swallowed the great lump in his throat, “We follow the Golden Company, they carry something we desperately seek.”  
Howland Reed glanced over the group and nodded, “I’ve seen the Company sure enough but the thing you seek... does it happen to be a little, silver-haired queen we’ve heard has come to Westeros?” Jon nodded, his breath shallow. “She was carried off to the east, with only a few of those braggarts. They were making for the sea.”  
“You’re certain of this?” Jon pressed.  
“Aye, and the bastard who had her thrown across his horse was neither a sell-sword, OR a Northman, but a salt covered, iron born piece of shit, with a mouth on him. Bragged the length of the forest.”  
“Sounds like Greyjoy.” Tyrion glanced warily at Jon.  
“I should have cut his throat and saved the girl, but for being alone.” Howland went on, “There are two large men with him and another, strange one... Foreign and with strange magic we do not know.”  
“Greyjoy would be carrying her to his ships,” Jon spun his eager horse.  
“Do we know we can trust him?” Jorah rode in close and asked Jon. His eyes flickered over Howalnd Reed, “What if he is delaying us?”  
Jon knew the houses Mormont and Reed could not be any different than each other, or farther apart. But for the Starks and the Reeds there was a bond that stretched back for centuries. His father never had an ill word for them. “We can” he decided, “And I thank you Ser Howland.”  
“I will guide you through the Eastern parts of the marshes,” Howland offered, “There are things, King Jon, that I think you should know.  
HR elected to join them, producing a well-tempered mule as a ride and ut was down obvious why, as the sure footedness of the thing was far better suited to the marsh landscape than their own chargers. The pace was compromised by the roots and slews and Jon’s own wits stretched thin with each hour that passed. Each set back was another she might be killed during, each pause a lifetime.  
“We’ve seen great change since the winter came. Strange changes.” HR rode next to Jon mostly, “The children came to warn our scouts in the Northwest.”  
“Cheeldren” Jhorro repeated HR.  
“Children.” Said Tyrion, “Of the forest?”  
“What means this?” Jhorro demanded.  
Jorah Mormont snorted in reply, “A story for young ones.”  
“Westeros is foolish to think so.” Howland turned to face him, “We shall need their help, before this is through, you mark my words.”  
Jon watched See Howland, “And so you know first hand what is coming for us. For all of us.”  
“Aye. But I’ve also seen great beasts flying over head and am told they’ve come, this time, to protect us. That’ll be your queen’s pets, then?”  
Jorah shifted on his horse, “Rather different then Aegon the conqueror.”  
Howland Reed wound in and our of the trees, “It appears that way, but there are others who are spreading a different message.”  
“What others?” Tyrion asked.  
“The travellerss. Singers and merchants from King’s Landing passing through. They speak the lowest of tidings, that a barbarian queen has come, a conqueror worse than her ancestor bent on chaos and destruction.”  
“You believe these reports?” It was Jon that asked him.  
See Howland glanced at him steadily, with a somber face. “When pressed, these tellers cannot admit to a source. It has made the crannogmen suspicious especially when we’ve heard other reports, through the old ways. These reports are of a beauty the world has never seen, with a saviours heart and a mothers love for her people. One who stole the allegiance of a king.”  
Jon blushed. “The old ways?”  
Howland nodded, “These ways we akin to trust.”  
“Our women carry tales upon their tongues and pass them around as a duty. It is known.”  
“We never say that in Westeros. Even if it might be true.” Tyrion remarked.  
“Is that a true Dothraki screamer?” Holland asked of Jon. “These a strange times. Strange times. I never thought I would be riding next to you, Jon Snow.”  
“You told me there were things I should know.” Jon mentioned.  
“Yes it..it was of a time you should know more about, a time before Ned Stark had his own sons.” And they rode on, Jon listening calmly to a tale of incredible feats and mysterious hero’s, woven around a tournament he’d heard about as a youth. THE tournament that had brought about the kidnap of his aunt, and the beginning of Roberts rebellion. A dark and almost mythical knight coming to win back the Reed’s honour peppered throughout. It was a great story, and he wondered at the way his aunt sounded, like Arya, fierce and strong, but perhaps with Sansa’s beauty. Then, the story shifted. Howland drew much closer to Jon and began to speak in hushed tones. He told of a long journey, and desperate search with Ned Stark, through a dry and dangerous land. Of a monstrous fight against Sea Arthur Dane, the Sword of the Morning, where many fell, and nearly himself. Then he said, “Ned Stark went up into that tower and came back with a baby.”  
“What?” Jon gasped. “He said…he said that my aunt-“  
“Not your Aunt, son.”  
Jon swallowed. “Lyanna is my mother.” A thousand truths and lies were crashing in on him, “But that means….”  
Howland sighed, “That means the same villain who carried her off was your father, and not Ned Stark, yes.”  
Jon pulled his horse to a stop. “I’m… I’m Targaryen.” “You’re Stark. The truest of all of them I feel, with your mother the she-wolf of Winterfell.”  
“But why would father- I , I mean Ned… why would he hide this from me?”  
“Ned hid you from the world, all your life. He hid you from yourself also. How many out there would want to kill Rhaegars son, even if he was a bastard?” Howland looked ahead as he rode, “And Robert the most of all.”  
“Robert had killed Rhaegar already, what could he have done.”  
“Robert hated that man, and all Targaryens. We’d heard the Dornish growing restless when word came that he’d seen that the Mountain dashed Rhaegars children against the stone floors of the Throne room. The same would have been done to you. But you mother mean to keep you safe above all. She loved you no matter who’s you were and protected you until her last breather, and Ned Stark right after her.”  
Jon breathed as steadily as he could, considering what had just gone on inside of him. He nodded to Howland Reed. “I am glad to know the truth at last, Set Howland.”  
“He meant to tell you, I know. He wrote to me that you had joined the Nights Watch.” Reed added. “I thought it a great pity. There was an angel once, named Lyanna, who would have wanted so much more for you. And now, King Jon, I believe you are finally becoming something she would have agreed with.”  
Ser Jorah stopped abruptly. “I see a ship there, just through the trees. Wait here, Jhorro and I will scout it.” He spoke in guttural Dothraki and they both rode away together.  
Davos approached Jon’s right hand side. “Your Grace. Do you believe what he tells you?”  
“You were listening?”  
Davos scoffed, “I consider it my job to bare at least what you must.”  
Jon’s mind was tumbling of course. Son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. A true Stark, as he’d wanted, and a Targaryen… The seven knew what he was meant to think about all of it. Jon wasn’t sure how he felt knowing he was conceive in violence, either. But since there was a greater problem at hand, he allowed himself to shove the news aside, “I’ll have to think on it later I suppose.”  
Soon Jhorro and See Jorah were back, and with them another. The night had fallen completely, and it wasn’t until they rode right up to the group that Jon knew him to be Then Greyjoy. “What the hell are you lot doing here?” he said riding up.  
“Euron has taken the queen, he means to steal her off to my sister this night.” Tyrion told him.  
Theon gasped, “My sister is on his ship as well, we’ve tracked them to this inlet. He has been hiding here for hours, and we were wondering why… Now I see he was plotting and scheming. Even in that Dragonpit. This will not stand, the fate of the Ironborn and the seven kingdoms is in that ship.” His tone had grown strong again, strong but not proud like it used to be.  
Jon scowled and glared at the ships lantern lights through the trees. “Not for long.”


	5. White Harbor to Winterfell.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany stuck in a Undying dream, and gets some help from a few unexpected friends

Dany was only dimly aware of something that pressed together her hands and feet firmly. Otherwise it was as though she fell through a space of never ending darkness that ran on and on. Her fear was replaced with emptiness, and such intense hopelessness, that she hardly noticed a light expending below her, growing in width as she fell closer and closer to the ground. It rose to meet her feet gently, and she did not feel as though she were bound any longer. She was intact, herself, and dressed as she had been back in Pentos, like an average girl, her haired flowing down her back, unbound.  
“Sister,” a voice called from the source of the light. “Sister.”  
It had been a long time since she’d heard anyone called her that, and she hesitated following it. Perhaps it was the gown, the hair, the old memories but it struck her odd that she should be of sudden redressed, and placed back into this time in her life that she would far rather forget. Frowning she followed the call, there was no other option readily available, and was not surprised to see the white hair of Viserys as he stood, arms clasped behind him, back to her, waiting.  
“Brother,” she said warily. How true was this vision? He was taller, this white haired imposter than her brother had truly been.   
“You’ve had a hard go at this life, haven’t you.” he said without turning. “The winds of heartbreak have hit you, and the woes of ruler you have felt. You’ve lost a child, and a dragon…”  
Somehow this was said in gentle tones, and forced Daenerys to focus on her hands, to hide her eyes. Was this even her brother? No, of course not. There were no gentle tones in Viserys. “I’ve managed.” She swallowed down the lump inside.  
“You love a Stark.” He said softly.  
Air flowed over her from an open window, and with it a familiar feeling.The room around them was stone, and a fireplace before him roared, and there was even a table laid for two, as though he’d been expecting her. But all she thought about was the air, the briny air of Dragonstone. Jon, her heart yearned, Jon…  
“You choose a hard path, little sister.”  
Daenerys lifted her chin slightly. “I love where I love. There is no choice.”  
The man turned around a last. And she saw his face was not known to her, not immediately, but it was oh so familiar. Much like her own, but older, and that of a man’s, handsome but weathered. Impulsively she believed that he was Rhaegar, but the thought of who was spinning the scene out for her, also made her wary. He answered her with a face filled with gravity, “Love can bring down kingdoms.”  
“It can save everything,” she answered him.   
“I warn you, little sister, that you will pay more for love than anything else in this world.”  
Dany laughed through fresh tears, “Well, what sort of world would it be without him, anyway?” This stranger who was so like her brother stared at her in this vision, waiting to hear her words. She indulged, “I owe you nothing. There was no accountability to Rhaegar Targaryen, even you are him. There is only your accountability. Your life is not mine. Your decisions are not mine. You left us with this world, you didn’t care enough to make it right- you only cared about yourself, all of you- Ned Stark, Robert Baratheon, Tywin Lannister. You were supposed to be our fathers, our leaders! You were the strong men, the wise ones, the rulers. You failed. You were selfish, the lot of you, thinking of your honour, and your pride, and your damned loyalty. And now we, your children, are left with the broken pieces and a host of dead coming for us.” Dany huffed a large deep breath. “I won’t hear advice. Even if it is right. Not from you…brother.”  
“I am happy that you have stopped looking back, Stormborn,” said the apparition before dissolving away and the comfortable room with it. The voice lingered, and was not unfamiliar. “Now to be mindful of whats to come.”  
Daenerys reached out into the darkness but felt only air, until her finger connected with something new. A body, strong and large with lean, generous muscles and smooth skin. Dany pulled her fingers away and gasped at the same time. “But..”  
“My moon and stars,” he said. His voice was the same, making Dothraki beautiful in it’s way. It still spoke to something deep inside of her. More tears bled from her eyes.   
“My love, my love.” Daenerys wrapped herself inside of him, not caring if he was real or false. He held her too, but not at all in the way it once was, when she was a girl and just awakening to love for the fist time.  
“When mountains become dust, and your womb quickens again.” He spoke clearly, and perfectly in the common tongue. She pushed back and looked up into his eyes, and he grasped her shoulders, making the moment so much more grave. “Then shall I return to you.”  
“Drogo, you-“ her voice caught, “You can never return to me.”  
“I have, blood of my blood,” he smiled softly, “I already have.” She gazed at his face, but there blew a spray of snow between them, light at first but then almost to the point of blocking her sight. Something pulled at her attention, something behind her, in what had become a wall of white. She turned to it, despite herself and Drogo’s hands lifted off of her. Into the blizzard she pushed, shielding her eyes, and seeing somehow, the strangest of sights. The Wall rose above her, interminably high, but just at the level of her eyes, there bloomed a sturdy blue rose, through some chink in the Wall’s surface. Was it immune to the snow around it? It seemed to be, not even a snowflake could land on it. She touched it and a sound, chilling and loud caused her to jump and whirl back around.  
“Jon?” She knew the figure at once, bulky in furs, his long sword glinting. He seemed to be walking away from her, but when she called him, he stopped. Her feet were compelled forward. “Wait!”  
He did not turn to her. When she’d reach him she saw that he clenched his eyes closed, as though in pain, and would not look at her. Daenerys closed her hands around his arm and pulled gently on him, and at this he suddenly sprang up. His eyes were wrong, blue and glowing and blank. He shook, and seemed shocked at something. Something he’d just done.   
It was only then she realized his sword had pierced straight through her. Had torn through the back of her dress and that an icy cold feeling was flowing from her chest to the rest of her. Blood dribbled from her mouth, and her attacker shook his head, bewildered. In a second she was falling back, the Jon Snow she didn’t know watching her all the way until he became tiny, and then darkness overtook her. Could a person sink farther than death?  
That question was answered when she slapped down onto a cold stone floor, broken but able to rise to her feet again. The icy pain inside of her was subsiding, infant in moments she felt good, almost carefree, She couldn’t begin to recall why she had been so pained, there was no evidence of it on her blood red gown. A gown dripping in rubies. And she knew her surroundings, well a version of them.  
She was in the Iron Throne room and this time it was whole, and glorious. Every lamp was lit and Targaryen banners flew high. Drawn into it deeper, she stepped over whatever covered the floor and watched each banner wave, high in the vaulted heights above. This was not the crumbling snow filled place, it was a vibrant, almost garishly powerful hall. The banners seemed to drip, like her dress, leaving rubies behind her. She walked under one and held out her hands, but did not catch a beautiful gem in her hand. It was blood.  
Daenerys gasped, and stepped back, connecting with something squishy beneath her feet. There on the floor, decomposing, was one of those girls they’d strung up on the rode to Meereen, and she stared up at Daenerys with accusing eyes. Dany screamed, and only then fully realized that the hall was strewn with hundreds of dead. And every one she could see had died either for her or because of her.   
No, she thought, no this is not what I want. In desperation she ran from the throne room. So what if the Iron Throne stood empty. She would not sit on it if it meant that they would all be there…but outside the hall all was darkness. Never-ending darkness. That was when the familiar voice called to her again.  
“Child of fire, “ it said. “You have come so far, in so short a time. A worthy Queen by all rights.”  
“Who are you?” She called into the darkness.  
“I am a follower of the Lord of Light, my child,” the voice was soft, and soothing. “and we have met before.  
“Where am I?” Dany asked next.  
“You are trapped inside the last Warlocks curse.”  
“Warlocks.” Dany whispered. I knew they were still out there.  
“He seeks his revenge cruelly, and I have protected you thus far. But he will find me soon and chase me from this plain.”   
“You’ve been aiding me?”  
A face emerged from the darkness, Eyes, clever and old, and the rest covered in a jewelled metal mask. “I have watched you since the storm struck on the night you entered this world.”  
“Qaithe.” Daenerys remembered her now. “Will I survive this?”  
“Your redemption draws near.”  
“But I am so lost.” Dany once more felt her eyes prick with tears. “I cannot stand another curse, another prophecy… another betrayal.”  
“You are free, Stormborn.” Qaithe said, just when a soft hissing sound crept through the darkness and over Dany’s skin. “Free from Mirri Mazhdar, free from the madness of your father, and you are strong enough for the last betrayal that will come.”  
Danerys blinked once, ignored the growing sounds around her and asked, “Am I…truly free from the witches curse?”  
“You always were.” Qaithe told her, “Stronger than you ever knew. You must know that strength in the days to come. Trust, if not in the Lord of Light, then trust in yourself. For the trial to come is your darkest, and the future is never certain.”  
Dany swallowed as the sounds around them grew, like hissing in a million languages, liifting up and suddenly taking form, just behind the prophetess.   
“She will stay in the House of the Undying forever, red whore!” The face of a thin, bald man materialized suddenly just as a blade emerged through Qaithe’s breastbone, his blueish teeth clenched together, just as she cried out. Then she dissolved away, much like Rhaegar. “Mother of Dragons, we meet again.”  
“I don’t belong here, with you.” She backed a step or two from him.  
“You have no choice.” He answered.  
Dany wavered, staring at the Warlock again, recalling the times when her dragons were tiny and clutched onto her as though they’d never let go. She wondered about them now, and tried to reach them through the murky reality she knew was false. But the Warlock drew closer.   
“They cannot hear you from here.” And she felt his icy cold hands on her cheek, and her eyes fell shut with a shudder. “Oh, so lost without them.”  
Reach down, a new voice said, this time almost within her. Push him back. He is weak without his brothers.  
Dany’s eyes shot open and she shoved forward with all her might. The Warlock flew back, falling to the ground and landing in a slide. There suddenly appeared a massive oak door in front of her, as though she conjured it! and she slammed it hastily, and used the great chunk of wood ready nearby to lock it securely. She heard the Warlock slam against it and screech with rage, but the door held hard. Backing away slowly, she only then realized how hard her heart was thundering inside of her.  
“It will hold,” said the same voice, but just behind her.   
Dany whirled around to glimpse a boy of solemn expression, and deep brown eyes. Nestling in beside a roaring and mighty hearth, he smiled calmly and waited for her to relax just a bit, and then beckoned her closer.  
“You..you helped me…” Dany said to him, thank the gods she now wore the leathers she’d had under her armour when they’d taken her. It made the situation far more believable. “Who are you?”  
The boy stared at her, sort of shook his head absently. “I’m…so many things.”  
“Where is this? Have you brought me somewhere?” The door shuddered under the Warlock. “Somewhere safe?”  
“I brought you to a safe place in the past.” The boy said, “The past of Brandon Stark, the younger, the still living.”  
Daenerys watched him worry the fire with a stick, and frowned slightly. “You. You’re Brandon Stark.”   
His eyes turned up to her, the very same eyes of Jon and she felt her breath rake at her chest and come out with a sigh. When he spoke it was gently, but rather disconnected. “A long long time ago. And you, you are Daenerys Targaryen.” Again a loud thrashing at the door made her jump. “He cannot come in here,” said Brandon Stark. “This is my past.”  
“Why are you helping me?” She asked.  
He faced her again, so solemn for such a youth, “You do not owe me your freedom.  
I cannot give it to you.Your freedom is not mine to give.It belongs to you and you alone.”  
Daenerys gasped.  
“You said this, in Slavers Bay, to the tens of thousands. When you could have owned them, or demanded to rule, you said these things.” Brandon Stark, poked even more at the fire, “You have two dragons still and Jon Snow cannot think clearly with love for you. That in itself makes you an ally to the living. But I’ve watched you. I saw you as a child in Pentos, your loneliest times. Once you were a princess sold to a warlord, then a Khaleesi crossing an ocean of grass with her own people. Some called you mother, some a vigilante setting masses free in Slavers Bay, and finally you became a Queen, and came home. You aren’t a scared little girl anymore, you’re what Westeros needs.”  
Daenerys swallowed hard. “Can I defeat the Night King?”  
Brandon suddenly snapped to attention, “We must try!” He cried. The door swung open and Daenerys jumped to her feet. “Do not be afraid, it is the memory…”  
Dany felt the panic taking over, “How long can we linger here for?”  
“Until he comes.”  
“Who?” She asked with concern, and noticed then that the serious boy was looking past her, at the bed, which she hadn’t noticed until now.   
Upon is lay a sweeter and much smaller Brandon Stark, sleeping soundly and a deep-red haired woman, dressed well and winding up bits of yarn sat in a chair beside him. Scarcely had she time to process it when Jon Snow appeared in the doorway, a sullen dark youth, skinnier and rather apologetic for even being there. The floor creaked beneath him and the woman turned, her face falling when she saw who it was.  
“I came to say goodbye to Bran,” he said, coarsely.  
“You’ve said it,” she spat back at him, winding the yarn furiously.  
Jon frowned and looked ready to leave, but then stepped into the room more, challenging her without really challenging her. He spoke lowly to the boy, who slept on, ignorantly. He told him many things, about how he was going to the Wall and what he would do there, and what perhaps Bran would do there. All the while the red-haired woman wound her balls of yarn and scowled, and Daenerys hated her more and more until at last she dropped her work and leaned over the child.  
Tears dripped down her face and she hissed, “I want you to leave.”  
Behind them all, and unbeknownst even to Daenerys, a man she immediately supposed was ned Stark creaked in the doorway. He stared at the seen, without words, but with a face that told of regret and anguish. Dany looked back at Jon, who took it in stride, went to the bed to kiss his brother goodbye. She hurt for him, and didn’t want to let him pass. She reached out for him and grabbed his arm.   
“Wait,” said Brandon, the older by the fire.   
Everything changed around them. And suddenly Bran was standing beside her. “What’s happening?” She cried.  
“I don’t know,” said Bran, “This isn’t my past anymore.”  
Jon Snow stayed but changed under her hand to a smaller, skinnier youth. She could tell it was him from the way he swung his sword in a cold abandoned courtyard. The same dark red-haired woman crossed the snow and gravel and walked before him, casting a broken bow to the ground.   
“You’ll stop indulging Arya, immediately.”  
“I will do whatever she asks.” Jon muttered back.  
“What was that?” The lady demanded. She stood a whole foot over Jon, and his black hair was so long he had to look through it up at her.   
“I will do whatever you ask.” He said clearly.  
“Just be quiet, and stay OUT.” The lady told him, and then stormed away, with her shoulders huffing.   
“Why are you showing me this?” Dany stared at young Jon, awash in light for one second, then left in the dark the next when the hall door closed behind the woman.  
Bran looked all around, “It is Winterfell before I was born.” His curiosity perked, he almost absently added, “Jon must be very close now.”


	6. White Harbor to Winterfell.3

Jon crouched amidst the reeds and weeds. The water from the river lapped at their feet but they remained out of site in the cover, and they could clearly see the entire ship from where they waited.  Within, somewhere, was Dany, so close he could almost feel her. He knew he was hardly thinking straight and had to separate himself from the fear that she might already be dead, to form a planning to get them inside. He turned at once to Theon.

“Do you recall that mid-winters feast when you and I took down Rob and the Karstarks snow fortress, only the two of us?”

“Aye,” rasped Theon, “We blitzed them from the back. The look on their faces!”  
“We got in very close, and listened until the time was exactly right. Then we struck.”

“Aye, that was all your plan, Jon.” Then answered him, “You always had great plans.”

“We raid as quietly as we can.”

“There is one up on the at the top there.” Tyrion joined the whispering, “He’ll be the bell ringer. Someone who wakes the rest in the event of an attack. We have to take him out before the rest. Is anyone a good climber? And silent-“

The man he spoke of suddenly slumped into the crowsnest, dead. Howland Reed lowered his bow and asked Tyrion, “What is next?”

“Davos and I will take up a place of rendezvous as you depart from the ship.” Tyrion told them, after a long look at Howland Reed. “Jon will lead the raid.”

“And I will go after my sister, Yara, once we are on board.” Theon added. 

“We go for the queen.” See Jorah nudged Jhorro.

“I am with you Jon.” Howland nodded.

Jon grinned, darkly, “Now we fall in, and everyone be as silent as the Night Kings grave.”

Smoothly they glided through the water, freezing though it was, and Jhorro said every curse there was in his tongue. The ship was more then equipped to fight and there was a watchful guard at every corner. But the night was late, the darkest of hours had descended, and they could see the ship far better than anyone on board could see them. It was systematic, and focused. Every man fell silently, and with one blow only, first Jorah’s curved blade, then Jhorro’s, Jon slit the throat of a scabby pirate obliviously picking his teeth, and Howland took down two more with his arrows. One by one they hit the deck, like a ghost of death had struck, until every soul they saw had departed. When they gained the outside of the cabin, Theon continued down into the belly of the ship for Yara, and Jon caught strains of the conversation inside.

“One touch,” moaned the voice he loathed to hear. “One bloody poke. Do you know who I am?”

“Leave her!” demanded another voice, thin and whispery, as though more were talking along with it. “She must not be touched.” 

“Here lies the most beautiful woman in the world boys, don’t you at least fancy a closer look?” 

Jon adjusted ever s slightly to peer in through the window, and could see that Euron Greyjoy sat, as though a filthy King, and a small distance from him two men stood and glanced at each other at this suggestion. They both were clothed almost like knights, but too gaudy, too flashy for any true fighter’s taste. And there, bound and laying still upon a couch was Daenerys, and hovering just above was what looked like a diseased and tortured ruin of a man, with a pallid blue colour to his skin, and far too much interest in her. 

“How do you supposed the Boy in the North fucks her then? On a dragon?” Euron laughed hard. “Ah, I should love to fuck a girl on a dragon.”

Jon hissed back to the others what he spied, adding, “I don’t believe my eyes but it looks as though that shit slinger Jon Connington is in there, and probably Harry Strickland the man he spoke so ill of.”

“All day, we have fucking sat here, when we could be in Kings Landing by now!” Euron hollered and kicked out at a rack of swords. “This isn’t how an Ironborn does things."

“Do you ever shut up, Greyjoy?” Said the man Jon thought was Harry Strickland.

“Maybe the two of you can shut up first.”

“Do you wish for her dragons to find us and tare us to pieces? Or burn us in seconds,” it was the cruel thin man who spoke, “Because we hang in the balance now.”

“I wish,” said Greyjoy, “to be deep inside the Targaryen girl, on my way to delivering her to the Queen. You are the only thing standing in my way, now- Will you be done soon?”

The thin, bluish man hissed and snapped, “Something is stopping me, blocking me..but not for long. I shall find him.”

“Jon,” whispered Sir Jorah, distracting him. “We should capture the Golden Company men. Owning them will keep the sellsword army from attacking us later.” Jon nodded. “But Greyjoy and that cursed Warlock must die.”

“Warlock?” Holland Reed repeated, “The world grows stranger and stranger still.”

“Perhaps I shall keep her, “ Greyjoy brought Jon back to the window. “Show her how an IronBorn does it?” He was stretching his hand out for the queen and the Warlock shoved him back.

“Do not! The connection is fragile. I cannot risk her waking.”

Euron Greyjoy growled and spun around, pacing the cabin. “I’ll take every hole in her body soon enough.” Jon could feel the rage just below his skin, as though boiling within.”You lot. Stop looking at me like that. Go and guard my fucking ship!”

The two left the cabin readily enough, closing the door heavily and one said, “Don’t know how much more of that Ironborn bullshit I can take.”

“I’m beginning to agree with you,” the second voice was the unmistakable gruff of Conningtons. 

“What sort of chaos have we gotten involved in Griff?”

“The sort we must fix ourselves Harry. We can’t let him defile the girl. We must take her back to Essos, keep her safe from this Warlock, and wait for her army to pay to have her back.”

“And the Company? Were you not worried that she would turn their hearts if they but saw her?”

“It is different now I met her. She is Rhaegars blood, and so like him,” he was so close to Jon, he could hear him breathing. “Let us save her, and ransom her.”

The words ‘Rhaegars blood’ were still fresh in his ears when Jon knocked Connington over his head with the hilt of his sword, cleanly bringing him down. The leader, Harry Strickland, reacted fast, but was beset by Jhorro before his sword could be drawn. Both men soon became dead weight, that Jorah helped the bloodrider drag away. 

“We will take them to Davos and Tyrion, to bind up.” Said Sir Jorah.

Howland put his hand on Jon’s shoulder, “We will get her.”

Jon jumped at the distinctive sound of a man being rent apart and exploded into the cabin just Euron Greyjoy was yanking a swivelled and giant hook from the Warlocks back. Blood flew when he swung it, and Longclaw shuddered when it stopped the blow. Whatever abomination it was, Jon knew, just by the way air whooshed around it that the would be a hard fight to win. 

“The King in the fucking North,” Euron laughed and his teeth glinted in his delight. “Oh the bloody things I will do to you. To the pair of you.”

Jon gripped Longclaw hard, and inched closer and closer to Daenerys, and said, “You should have kept away from all this, Greyjoy.”

“Oh, and let you have all the fun, eh? You parasites that jumped my ship will have your parts strewn across every sail.” Euron spit.

As soon as he was close enough, Jon touched her face with the back of his fingers. Even in the dim light he could tell she stirred at his touch, but Euron drove forward at him, swinging the weapon hard, and Jon had to throw himself across the floor to keep from being split in two. 

Euron laughed again and “She’s mine now, Bastard.” 

Thank the gods, Jon noticed that it seemed particularly hard for Greyjoy to lift up the hook after lunging so strenuously.  He waited him out, and sure enough the pirate charged again. Jon stepped to the side and then hurled everything he had at him. Hacking, spinning, jutting Longclaw at his wildly, every blow Greyjoy swiped away with his monstrous hook. One slip of his foot on the Warlocks blood and Jon felt the coiled blade nestle just behind his thigh, then rip upward. Pain brought him down to his knees at once, and a hasty chuckle from Euron before what he was sure to be his own execution. 

The sound of a bolt shooting loose, told Jon that Howalnd Reed had saved his life but the growl of fury after, said that the shot was not a fatal one, and the villain Greyjoy tossed his massive hook right into Reed, sticking him to the door fast. Jon felt a cold wave roll though him. Greyjoy’s hook was lodged hard, and Jon forced himself to a foot. Slashing up the villains back he felt the blade open up armour and skin as though it were butter. Greyjoy slumped to the ground and Jon ran to grab Reed as he was falling to the ground.

“Jon, your mother… would be proud,” he grasped Jon’s hand, “Oh but she would be proud.” He sputtered blood and then was still. Jon shook his head, but the sound of a chilling full-throated laugh brought his suddenly back.

Greyjoy was hoisting himself up, riven open but still forcibly there, and he was far too close to Daenerys. Jon stood to face him. His wounded leg was shaking uncontrollably. Fighting was all there was left, but he wasn’t sure he would win this. He found the rest of his strength and charged, at once getting ahold of Greyjoys hook within Longclaw, but just as he’d wrestled the thing away from Euron, a large club crash down on Jon’s head, and he toppled to the ground, his consciousness slipping. He wrestled with waking, or just giving in to the darkness.

“Hello there, little queen.” Jon just barely heard a voice say,”See now, your boy hero is dead. I’ve killed him just now. You’re armies are scattered in the winter wind, and the dead are coming…”Jon could nearly taste the rage inside of him, and seemed to be wrestling with his own slow muscles to awaken. He growled and he screamed but his body only twitched.  “No No, don’t look away Gorgeous. No tears. I’m offering you life.”

  It was an obvious buckle releasing that finally brought Jon fully back, but Dany screaming made him sit up.  Greyjoy was stumbling back from her and Jon saw a dagger hilt jutting from his eye socket. Daenerys met his eyes, her hands still bound, but now bloody. Theon and Yara flew through the doorway in time to watch Euron wrestle the small dagger Jon knew to be the queen’s, out of his eye with a great shout. 

“You right cunt-“

“Shut up Uncle.” Yara called out to him. “You’ve been flapping your jaws on this world for too long.”

In a swift motion Jon knew well from boyhood, Theon tossed up a spear and caught it again in his fist only to launch it like a dart at Euron, where it caught him through his collarbone with a crunch of sinew and bone. They crossed the room in a moment, and Yara took up the hook as she went, holding it fast to her uncles throat.

“I am,” he sputtered, “your only family.”

“Pretty thing,” Yara swivelled the blade. She asked how sharp he kept it, and then she pulled it across his throat. Euron made his last sounds, and finally fell silent. “I’ve all the family I’ve ever needed with me.” Yara said to Theon.

Jon rolled forward to his hands and knees and groaned. 

“Jon,” Daenerys voice was shaky. He swallowed back blood, and pushed up to his feet. “You’re alive.”

“You’re alive,” he hobbled to her, and locked her iHe only then noticed she was still bound and he hastily started untying them. Yara came to untie her feet.

“I overheard men saying they had captured the Dragon queen. I was filled with rage, but it filled me with life again. You are always Queen to us, Your Grace.”

“I owe you,” Said Dany rubbing her wrists, “You are my ally, and a queen yourself. Do not forget. Listen now, everyone, Drogon is close. He will burn this ship to nothing!” The Greyjoys heeded her advise at once but Jon tried instead to scoop her up in his arms, overestimating the health of his leg. “Jon no!” She cried, “He is coming, and he will strike with fire and blood.” 

The screeching could be heard now, high and far off but chilling all the same. “I won’t leave you, “ he said.

“I cannot be hurt, Jon. I have the blood of dragons.”

He almost trembled at the words when he said, “So have I.”

“What?” She searched his face, but Drogon called again, piercing the night and the boat heaved with the weight of a dragon dropping down on it. “Jon, you’re hurt!”  
“I can walk still,” he took her hand, “Lets go.” 

Outside the cabin, mayhem reigned. It was a feeding frenzy for dragons as more men tried to escape the now burning ship for an arguably worse fate, like rats running into the jaws of the cat. Drogon purred at Daenerys as though pleased to see her in Jon’s company and safe at last. It did not settle Jon down any however, for the two brothers invariably ate everyone one board. He was beginning to finally understand that Dany was a true player in the race to rule everything, and a hard one to take out as well. What she needed him to be was not another saviour, or coddler trying to keep her locked down, it was to believe that she was as much a contender as he was. 

“This way,” he eased down onto a skiff tied to the ship,  just as it began to crumble in flames, wincing at the sharp heat of his bleeding leg. “Can you swim?” He asked reaching up for her. “This is a sad lifeboat at best.”

She nodded, and slid from the ship into his arms, asking, “Are you alright?”

Lit up as she was from the fire of the boat, Jon could only smile and say, “I am now.”

She did not seem to believe him, “We must fly to Winterfell Jon, Drogon can take us.”

“There are others, a search party.” Jon told her, untying the skiff and pushing them away. “Tyrion, and Ser Jorah will want to know your safe- they are close at hand.”

“Can we take them all?”

  “We’ve taken prisoners, also.” Jon searched for an oar. “But as soon as they set eyes on you I think you should set off for Wintefell.”

“Now Jon,” she said weakly, “Don’t you be like that.”

He felt a pang of urgency at her tone, and scowled as the leaky skiff slowed in the water. “Fuck this.”

He jumping into the water, cold but heavenly on his ripped leg, and guided the skiff. She wavered where she stood, and lowered slowly to a crouch. “Jon.” She said softly, “I knew you would come for me.”

He swallowed hard, and pushed through the freezing water gratefully. “I always will,” he said.

As soon as they reached the party, with their smouldering fire and bound up prisoners the argument renewed. “At once,” it was Tyrion who began, “You must take to the skies at once!”

“Your Grace,” Sir Jorah had bear-hugged her for rather too long, “What good will it do to muddle back to Winterfell when the Golden Company is still searching for you.”

“Not with our a Commander they won’t be!” Growled one of the captives.

“You’d better keep that within yourself in the future,” Davos told Harry Strickland. “there are some very vengeful Dothraki where we’re going. And you’ve just kidnapped their Khaleesi.”

“Did they hurt you?” Tyrion asked next.

“No,” Daenerys answer was not as truthful as Jon was looking for. 

Ser Jorah still had her hands, and Jhorro threw a barrage of questions at her in Dothraki which she answered readily. The pain in Jon’s leg pushed itself back in without warning and her nearly buckled under the strain of hiding himself up.

“Where is Reed?” Tyrion asked of him.

That same cold wave of realization flowed over him, and went straight into his wound. Jon forced himself to say, “He fell to Euron Greyjoy. I very nearly fell to him. But Theon-“ Jon turned to him, “Well done Theon.”

Greyjoy dipped his head. “Well done Yara.”

Yara scoffed, “Well done Queen Daenerys. She blinded the snake first.”

“Truly, I almost wish I had been there,” remarked Tyrion. “Almost.”

Dany smiled softly, but it froze when her eyes landed on Jon, “Are you alright?” 

Jon tried to answer, when a fresh wave of pain rushed through his legs and set his knee on the ground. Daenerys sounded panicked, and suddenly all was a blur of carrying, and Jon trying to bat people away from him. I will be fine, he wanted to say, but his mouth wouldn’t work. At one moment he was dipping in the shore again, and the next he could feel a hot and leathery body under his legs, cold night air in his face. The dark threatened to take him again when something inside of him screamed to awake. 

“Hold onto me Jon!” She cried over her shoulder to him,” I cannot hold you myself, love.” He felt he was holding to tightly to her already, so small she was. He feared he would take her with him, if he should fall. And so he fought falling, desperately. 

She and Drogon were almost one and the same. If she leaned one way, he leapt at the chance to go there too.  Sometimes she spoke words, and others it was as though she were sharing the animals thoughts. Jon was entranced by it, in his delirium. Below, the lands rushed by, far too fast for him to make out where they were, while above, the stars barely moved.

“That way,” he pointed below, “Winterfell is just beyond those barrows.”

She followed his lead, and Drogon followed hers. He could feel her trembling, and knew he must have been as well, but to her holding her, living and breathing in his arms was enough right then for him. “I will land outside the gates,” she told him. “I don’t wish to scare anyone.”

Jon wavered under a fresh wall of gripping pain when she landed and decidedly gave up being aware any longer.

“Just a small ways more.” She said, and he tried to nod.

He was slipping, everything was slipping.There were sounds and feelings and movements but they were all happening at once. Voids of restless sleep were striking. In the break of one he thought he saw a hearth. What felt like hours later, he opening his eyes to the hearty masters chambers of Winterfell. A fire roared and he was tucked under furs and sheets. In a large and pillowed chair slept Daenerys, soundly. He smiled before once more drifting off to sleep.


	7. Winterfell at Last

Dany first stirred when she heard the sound of two hushed voices speaking in a way that could only mean they didn’t want to be heard. This made her instantly alert, eyes flying open, and seeing for a second that Jon still lay in the big fur laden bed, with two very opposite girls standing on either side of it. One was a tall red head, with long stylishly worn hair, and the other a shorter, but pluckier one with short brown hair, dressed somewhere between a Bravosi swordsman and a knight. It was hard to imagine meeting these formidable sisters of Jon, for they could be no one else from the way he’d described them to her, in such a worried and exhausted state, so she shut her eyes before they turned to her and pretended she was sleeping still.

“Is this going to go on forever?” one of them said, with a low voice. “Are they just going to sleep all the time?”

“Sansa,” the other answered, chiding. “Be patient.”

“I’ve been patient, and it’s enough now!” and Sansa grew even quieter, “and I put out a very lavish feast for her last night. The least she could have done was wake up and eat it.”

The younger one, who had to be Arya laughed softly, “You’re impossible.”

“I never thought I’d be hosting a queen…. Without mother to help me.” Sansa said this softly, and Dany fought the urge to open her eyes. “What if I mess it up?”

“This queen probably won’t care.” Said the littler one. “She’s used to riding a dragon, remember?”

“I can tell you’re ready to make her your hero.”

“She is a hero. Like Vysenia.”

Sansa made an impatient noise and stomped out of the room, and Arya lingered for a moment more, softly telling her brother, “I love you, Jon. And I never, ever forgot it.”

When she was gone and the door closed Dany finally opened her eyes and sat up. Stretching a little, and cricking her neck this way and that, she noticed at last that Jon’s eyes were open and on her face, with a drowsy smile on his. Before she could fully comprehend he was alive and awake he said, “My sisters.”

Dany flew to the bed as quick as she could, and before she could decide what to do Jon enveloped her inside his arms and pulled her up onto his lap. Promptly he winced with pain and she tried to move away but he kept her trapped.

“Jon, your leg!” she cried.

“I don’t care.” He growled and pulled the exact places on her dress to make it fall right off. “I need you, right now, before anything else…”

Every piece of clothing was off, and a fiery feeling was spreading through Dany, though she kissed him softly at first, trying to tame the hunger. But that only stoked things more, until was only one thing left, and it was only motions away. Already lulled by waves of what was to come, Dany was slow to understand when suddenly Jon was pushing her back, head shaking and pain written in his face.

“I told you, your leg-”

“It’s not my leg, Dany.”He said.

He clung to her, forearms around her lower back, and she wound her fingers into his dark curls. “What then?”

Jon shook his head, and his face was distraught. Several times he tried to speak, but kept returning to his chest, breathing her in. Considering all they’d just been through, she reasoned that Jon might be in a state of shock. There was a way to break him out of it, and she went to it, rubbing up against that hard part of him, which betrayed his readiness for her. Jon’s grip tightened, and Dany shifted up on her knees, as his hands inevitably wandered lower and lower. Brazen winter sun through the window caught her hair, and made it glow. His eyes squinted up at her, entranced, until the tip of him was just inside of her, and he suddenly stopped everything. 

“No! Dany.” He took her upper arms and set her off of him, to the end of the bed. “Stop.”

She felt bewildered. “What have I done?”

Her words were like a blow to him, and his brow drew together anxiously. His worried eyes kept studying her bare skin, until finally the squeezed close and he said, “Fuck!”

Daenerys waited, and pulled her arms over her chest in confusion.

He took a steadying breath. “I’m…. I’m the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, Dany. My father was not Ned Stark like I thought all along.”

She felt her eyes widen, and colour must have been leaving her face. “You are jesting.”

“No.”

Something wild began to tremble inside of her, and she knew her breathing was shallow. “How?”

“It must be that Rhaegar loved my mother….” Jon’s hand slid up her ribs and grazed her breast before he pulled it away fast. “And didn’t rape her as everyone thought.”

Dany thought of him, in the Dream of the Undying… This was what he meant. “Lyanna Stark. She was your mother?”

Jon met Dany’s eyes, and she wondered how she’d not seen the purple flecks in them before. “She died giving birth to me in a tower in Dorne.” He snorted softly, “I supposed that makes me Jon Sand.”

“It makes you a Targaryen, Jon.” She breathed. And blood of my blood….

“It makes me every bit a bastard as I was before.” He answered, “only now I’m your nephew. I’m older than you, and I’m your fucking nephew.”

“You are-” she choked slightly on her words and his eyes snapped to her face, “You’re a dragon.”

“I don’t know how to be a dragon,” he said, in exasperation. “But I- I can’t touch you anymore, Dany.”

“What?!”

“Not until I… I’ve had a chance to think.”

Dany felt blindsided by her own despair, but wholly unwilling to give up easily. Because she knew the cause of his distance, she decided to challenge it, sliding right back over his knee, agilely. He let her come, and his eyes were heavy with desire, but his hands fell slack at his sides, and he didn’t kiss her back when she pressed her lips against his. In that hushed space when their noses touched, she opened her heart to him.

“I don’t care what your last name is,” she whispered. “I love you Jon.”

His eyes, huge and complexly dark met hers, widened…and then closed. Dany felt her heart would shatter, when he closed them. He closed himself. Slowly, she backed off of him, moved to the end of the bed and pulled her dress back on, with trembling fingers.

“Dany,” he began.

She jumped to her feet quickly, “Don’t.”

“Wait- ”

“I will respect your opinion of course Jon, but I can’t just turn off my love, no matter what duty tells me.”

“Dany!”

“And if I’m really meant to, then you must not call me that anymore.” As she said this a tear skipped down her face and landed on him, somewhere. He looked completely lost, and the image pained her so much, that she lashed out, in desparation. “You’ll make a fine King, you know. Putting the opinions of others above your own heart.”

Dany fled out of the room before he could see her crying any more, and she found herself in a large stone passage with servants everywhere and a lot of household traffic. She quickly wiped her eyes, and nodded kindly at a few who skidded to a stop and bowed to her. If she could just recall where her own quarters were, she would be able to release her tears in seclusion.

This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t be happening.

Someone led her to her room, a sweet little servant boy she thought, but she was so distracted she hardly said thank you. When she was safely behind doors, she dropped her head into her hands and wept. It was only a short while later that she felt her scribes loving hands pull her up from the ground where she’d fallen to. Missandei wiped the tears from her face and comforted Dany, like a mother might have. If felt good to be able to cry.

Drawing her a bath, Missandei made every decision for the next while, leading Dany to the water and laying out the right dress and cloak. She washed Dany’s hair, and braided it, still wet around her crown while Dany soaked. Missandei bore good news about Greyworm, having awaken and now with his men, painting a picture of the lands outside for Dany, and how the armies were fairing. A noisy fire and Missandei’s voice lulled at her eyes, and the rafters stretched up above her, strong and unmoving, like Jon. But even they would succumb to a dragons fire, she thought, and then slowly drifted off into darkness, where only the warm, crackling hearth-fire was still alive.

Daenerys woke with a start, and Missandei calmed her. “How late is the hour?”

“The feast has just begun Your Grace.” Her scribe answered.

Dany sighed and rose to her feet, “I must attend. “ She said as the water dripped off her and she slipped inside a warm robe. “Have any of the others returned?”

“No Your Grace, but the King is awake.”

“Yes… I know.”

“They say he will not be well enough to come to the feast though.”

Daenerys nodded decidedly and threw the dress on. For the first time since White Harbour she looked at her own face and was appalled to see the blue tint in her skin, and clinging to her lips. Her eyes were dark, almost black and shone with fever but she forced colour into her cheeks with two hard pinches and fell back to some of those little pots of colour she’d gotten from Qarth to make herself look less like an Undying Warlock. Missandei skillfully made it all look less severe, and then donned her own gown to compliment Dany’s and they left for the feast together. Her khalasar looking very heavily furred, and joining her at the end of the hall, was like a return to her post as Queen.

Winterfell was a myriad of passageways and corridors, Missandei had a general idea about, and they could hear their way to the dining hall well enough, but as soon as they’d entered, nearly every soul in the place went completely silent and turned to stare at them. There was a brief flash of anxiety inside her, like one of those times she felt like the weak little girl who followed around Vyseris, long ago. But she lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and walked straight down the centre of the feast hall, while the whispers rose. Up ahead was Sansa Stark, whom she still had not officially met, and beside her it must have been Arya. On the other side, the tall woman Knight Dany had seen at Kings Landing, with Davos next to her. And hobbling up to the center as though added at the last moment was Jon, with a wooden cane.

Dany slowed slightly at the sight of him, but decidedly swept up to Sansa and gave a very respectful nod. “Thank you for the hospitality you’ve shown.”

Sansa blushed and bowed, “It’s nothing, truly Your Grace.”

“I’m afraid I don't know anything about how to be a a lady of Westeros, perhaps you will be my advisor.”

The tall, beautiful thing looked flattered and then asked, “I hope you are comfortable?”

Dany smiled at her, “I’ve been on a dragon for days at a time, this is truly comfort.”

“I told you,” whispered Arya to her sister before turning to Dany, “Your Grace, can anyone ride them? The dragons?”

By now the hall was back into it’s loud state, and Dany was invited to join them at the table. Arya herself called for room to be made for Dany’s bloodriders, whom Sansa was both repelled and seemingly intrigued by. As it happens, the dragons were Dany’s truly favourite subject and for much of the feast she answered the curious girls barrage of questions. So many times, she caught Jon’s eyes on her, far more purposefully than when she might have noticed, back on Dragonstone, but she forced herself to ignore it. To stop even looking his way.

That eventually meant wandering the hall just to be free from the temptation. And she ordered the khalasar to enjoy the meal, and let her ramble on her own. The Northman didn’t like her, she could tell by their stiff bows and dark looks, but at the farthest corner from the family’s table she met with the friendly face of Varys at least.

“Your Grace,” he bowed in the way only he could. “I have many things to say.”

“Ah, yes.” Dany prepared herself for the usual update on other parts of Westeros, and even further but this time Varys looked chilled, and very serious.

“This place is not safe,” said Varys warned, “there are more than a few rumours flying that the wall bleeds an enemy from the North that is sweeping the land already. And the Golden Company…”

“What?” she pressed.

“They follow a new commander, it is rumoured.”

“Who?” she demanded. “Varys? Who!”

“Daario N’haris.”

Dany blinked at the name. “But thats a good thing, is it not?”

“As long as the sells-word doesn’t hear about the northern king.”

Dany sighed and faced the feast, “I knew I should have had more discretion.”

Varys walked up beside her, turning to watch as well, namely the high table where the wolves sat. “There is an old legend I recall from my days as a traveling actor. I’d forgotten the story, for a long time, but something about it reminds me of this situation we are in now, here in the North. There are certain similarities that cannot be denied.”

“Similarities?” she tried to hide the distraction in her voice when she saw a couple speaking to the king. It looked like a large, young Maester and a nervous girl with a baby in her arms, all of whom Jon was overjoyed to see. Varys went on with his strange news but she was watching another interaction take place with the younger Stark girl, and the red haired man from Braavos. This was making the tall blonde woman of Tarth nervous, and needing to be calmed by Davos, with a mild shake of his head. And then Sansa, despite being very adored by her Northern nobles, and Dany’s bloodriders alike, was watching Daenerys with skilfull stealth.

“…the blade of legend has been lost to time, of course,” Varys was saying, then, “Are you well, My Queen?” His perceptive gaze trailed over to Jon. “No trouble?”

She faced him, and asked. “Did you know Rhaegar, at all?”

The advisor paused before he answered, by the way his eyes drifted once from Jon to her, and back to Jon again, he was beginning to figure out why she asked. “I knew him well enough to know he was good and just. Many of us wished he was King.”

“He’d have been a better King than my father.”

“The thing I wonder about now, Your Grace, is if he’d have been better than you.”

Nothing prepared her for the wave of sadness his compliment gave her, and at that moment Jon met her eyes across the long hall. He tilted his head down to her, out of respect but no smile passed between them. Would her oldest brother have loved Jon and made him legitimate? Fate had thrust her here into this quest for the Iron throne, ripping all the possibilities in life away from her and replacing them with this infuriating game. And now, it took Jon. Her Jon….

She left the hall with little disturbance, most likely because the Northmen didn’t really want her there anyway. The overheated spaces switched into frigid open courtyard, where the night was quiet but tense with falling snow. Her mind was on fire, and the biting cold was at least stayed by her wild thoughts. Maybe it was the Undying dream still lingering in her, but she felt she knew which way to go, and took to a pensive, and peaceful pathway into the woods which brought her to a frozen pond under a shimmering crimson tree, dancing in the moonlit night. In the white trunk was a haunting and bleeding face, carved right into it. She pulled her white fur robe around herself tighter and looked away. For a long time Daenerys stood on the threshold of this ancient tree breathing in the soft, woodsy scent in the air and letting drops of snow melt on her face. That was when a voice broke the silence and made her jump in fright.

“The blood of old Valyria is in you,” it said, and she locked eyes with what seemed like the tree itself speaking. “Daenerys Stormborn,”

“You’re Brandon Stark.” She answered, “Aren’t you?”

“Once I was, “ was all he said. An angular and serious boy, he looked like a half-grown version of Jon, but had the eyes of the oldest of men.

“You helped me, “ she told him, “Thank you.”

He regarded her rather blankly and almost as an afterthought, said, “You will help us all, before the end.”

Puzzled, she took a seat on a snow covered log across from him and said, “How do you seem to know such things, One who was once Brandon Stark?”

She expected perhaps to draw him out a bit, but the boy stared at her with a face not unlike the tree’s beside him and finally said, “Your brother’s death should not have a place of guilt in your heart any more, Stormborn. He struck you often, and made you weak.” Dany swallowed, and stared. “He also told you he would let all the Dothraki riders and their horses rape you if it brought him a crown. But the crown was not meant for him.”

He stopped, and she realized he was looking past her. Dany turned to find she’d been followed by Jon, who was listening raptly, and who’s shoulders fell when he met her eyes. “I… I’m sorry-”

But suddenly, a garbled and strange noise made them turn back to Brandon Stark, who jerked and convulsed. Dany jumped to her feet and cried, “Whats wrong!”

“I don’t know.” Jon took the boy out of the chair, bewildered. “Bran?”

White foam covered his mouth and his eyes were rolled back, as he struggled against Jon, who tried desperately to hold him. And then Bran became still. Danny’s breath appeared in worried puffs before her face, and Jon turned to face her, fear and confusion written in his eyes. She almost asked if she should fetch help when a torturous scream split the woods. Jon shot to his feet, his eyes darting, and by the time the shriek had died, his Valyrian sword rang out, and his arm slid across her protectively.

But they soon realized the sound was coming from Bran himself, and when he looked their way at last, his eyes were icy blue, like the devils Dany had seen North of the wall. He smiled, cruelly, and said, “Just like last time, where the hero Ashai is, there Nysa Nysa will be.”

A glance back her way, told Daenerys that Jon was every bit as confused with this as she was, and he turned back to his brother, saying, ” Who are you?”

The withered legs of the boy, shuddered under him as he rose, his long finger pointed right at her. “She will be the Night Kings bride.”

“Bran!” Jon shouted and the undead demon inside the boy fled, leaving him twitching and falling to the snow. Jon rushed to him and helped him back in the chair.

“He’s coming!” Bran said, “breached the Wall- and -” The boy glanced at Daenerys. “He means to have her, alive. To control his…”

Jon glared ahead, “What…”

“His dragon.”

“What?” Daenerys felt the air rush out of her. “His what?”

“He turned one of your dragons,” Brandon said, oblivious to the pain that struck her heart just then, “It was why he let Jon and his company live so long up there on the frozen lake. It was to bait you in… he… he’s been waiting for you. And you brought him what he needed.”

Dany’s stomach was sick, and Jon growled out loud and sliced the ground with his sword. “I’m a fucking fool!”

“We need to stop him,” Dany said, staring ahead at the woods, flecked with falling snow. “Ride out and stop him in his tracks.”

“We need to plan our defence of Winterfell.” Jon said instead. “There are people to keep safe.”

Daenerys felt weary with grief and the thought of military planning was like an assault, to which she closed her eyes in defence. “You’ll forgive me, I feel tired suddenly.” She met Jon’s gaze and gave him a nod, “I’m sure the two of you have much to say.”

The path back felt shorter, maybe because her thoughts were even more flustered. She retired to her room with no ceremony, being able to slip past the hall unnoticed by all except her scribe. Missandei caught up to her in the halls, and looked alarmed.

“Your Grace,” she looped Dany’s arm under hers, “I must bring you a Maester. You have not recovered!”

“No, please. I just wish to sleep,” said Dany, and as soon as they were in her room, Missandei pulled the snowy robe off, and proceeded to unlace the dress, deep blue in colour and snugger than before around the top.

“When you are ready, you may tell me the things you saw, within the Warlocks dream?”

Dany swallowed hard and thought of the blue eyes of Jon, and the sharp cold sword in her gut. Then Bran just now, with his icy voice, and that same glowing stare. The Night Kings stare. He was waiting for her, to bring the dragons, and she did just that. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

The door suddenly burst in, with a massive force and Jon walked in, his fists balled. “Leave us,” he told Missandei and the scribe’s dark eyes shifted over to Daenerys.

She straightened her shoulders, wet her lips bravely and nodded to Missandei, “I will see you in the morning.”

When the heavy door creaked shut again, Jon said, “Come here.”

Dany shook her head, and a tear fell loose. “You said-”

“Fuck what I said. I know nothing, Dany.” His eyes trailed over her half-dressed body. “Come to me.”

“Your people,” she bit her lip hard, keeping her feet from moving. “Aren’t you worried about what they will think?”

“I’m Targaryen,” He told her, and something in his face was changed. “So what.” He smiled, and it made her breathless. “I love you, and nothing will change that.”

Her blood was stirring, and she tried to fight her heavy breathing, to look anywhere but at him. But then he reached his hand out to her, and his face looked so painfully beautiful.

“Please,” he said, “please, my love.”

She stumbled forward, and ended up wound inside him, meeting thier soft lips and driving herself mad with how much she wanted him. In this space, hiding away from the world, nothing mattered anymore. She was hungry, and it came out in the way she kissed him, because he pulled back and smiled at her, knowingly. Stroking the hair off her face, and keeping eye contact as he pushing inside of her, forbidden or not. Maybe it was his youth, matched by hers, and the thought that they could do anything to each other in those moments, but huge waves of pleasure were forcing shut her eyes. Jon thrust inside her, clamping around her back possessively, as though he meant to keep her there forever. They upset every piece of furniture in the room, and slammed the bed hard into the wall. He covered her mouth once, but it only fed the fire and made her cry out, uncontrollably. Fueled by whatever fire he felt, she rode him, like she’d never been able to with anyone before, eyes closed and pulling her hair off her neck. Every time she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her, from her hair down to the fusing together of their bodies. She dragged her hand down her neck, over her breast and settled it on his thing behind her, rolling her hips and hitting a rythym that brought the climax fast.

Jon’s body stiffened and he banged himself upward, prolonging the feeling inside her, until he was speant, and clinging hard to her, damp with sweat. He gave her only seconds to catch her breath, before he changed. For a moment she thought he was leaving when he stood up, his breathing heavier, and his eyes darker. She laid back on her elbows and watched him watch her, as though he was wrestling with demons inside, and effectively losing. All she had to do was turn in her knee a little and bite her lip, and he grabbed her ankle, yanking her back across the sheets. For one sweep of his hands up her waist and over her breasts she stayed on her back, and then spun her around.

His palms settled over her hips and he drew her up to her hands and knees. Nervously, she froze, “Wait…”

“Shhhh.” He said, spreading his hands out over her bottom, and then smacking it hard. So hard she initially felt sharp, biting pain, but it was followed by the most stirring, undeniable want, that she looked back over her shoulder at him, just as he slapped her skin again, and her whole body shuddered. The burning in her face was more than just her shy reaction, it was the heat of her arousal. Back arching, she could hardly control the backwards motion, nuzzling her bottom against his groin.

He squeezed her ass hard, and with the next strike, she felt all lust and no pain, and the words tore out of her when she said, “Oh ffffffuck!”

 

His fingers wrapped around her upper arms and she was trapped, but still unentered, so her bottom wiggled against him longingly. He growled out a dark laugh.”Easy.” He said, “We have all night.”


	8. Winterfell at Last

Dany first stirred when she heard the sound of two hushed voices speaking in a way that could only mean they didn’t want to be heard. This made her instantly alert, eyes flying open, and seeing for a second that Jon still lay in the big fur laden bed, with two very opposite girls standing on either side of it. One was a tall red head, with long stylishly worn hair, and the other a shorter, but pluckier one with short brown hair, dressed somewhere between a Bravosi swordsman and a knight. It was hard to imagine meeting these formidable sisters of Jon, for they could be no one else from the way he’d described them to her, in such a worried and exhausted state, so she shut her eyes before they turned to her and pretended she was sleeping still.

“Is this going to go on forever?” one of them said, with a low voice. “Are they just going to sleep all the time?”

“Sansa,” the other answered, chiding. “Be patient.”

“I’ve been patient, and it’s enough now!” and Sansa grew even quieter, “and I put out a very lavish feast for her last night. The least she could have done was wake up and eat it.”

The younger one, who had to be Arya laughed softly, “You’re impossible.”

“I never thought I’d be hosting a queen…. Without mother to help me.” Sansa said this softly, and Dany fought the urge to open her eyes. “What if I mess it up?”

“This queen probably won’t care.” Said the littler one. “She’s used to riding a dragon, remember?”

“I can tell you’re ready to make her your hero.”

“She is a hero. Like Vysenia.”

Sansa made an impatient noise and stomped out of the room, and Arya lingered for a moment more, softly telling her brother, “I love you, Jon. And I never, ever forgot it.”

When she was gone and the door closed Dany finally opened her eyes and sat up. Stretching a little, and cricking her neck this way and that, she noticed at last that Jon’s eyes were open and on her face, with a drowsy smile on his. Before she could fully comprehend he was alive and awake he said, “My sisters.”

Dany flew to the bed as quick as she could, and before she could decide what to do Jon enveloped her inside his arms and pulled her up onto his lap. Promptly he winced with pain and she tried to move away but he kept her trapped.

“Jon, your leg!” she cried.

“I don’t care.” He growled and pulled the exact places on her dress to make it fall right off. “I need you, right now, before anything else…”

Every piece of clothing was off, and a fiery feeling was spreading through Dany, though she kissed him softly at first, trying to tame the hunger. But that only stoked things more, until was only one thing left, and it was only motions away. Already lulled by waves of what was to come, Dany was slow to understand when suddenly Jon was pushing her back, head shaking and pain written in his face.

“I told you, your leg-”

“It’s not my leg, Dany.”He said.

He clung to her, forearms around her lower back, and she wound her fingers into his dark curls. “What then?”

Jon shook his head, and his face was distraught. Several times he tried to speak, but kept returning to his chest, breathing her in. Considering all they’d just been through, she reasoned that Jon might be in a state of shock. There was a way to break him out of it, and she went to it, rubbing up against that hard part of him, which betrayed his readiness for her. Jon’s grip tightened, and Dany shifted up on her knees, as his hands inevitably wandered lower and lower. Brazen winter sun through the window caught her hair, and made it glow. His eyes squinted up at her, entranced, until the tip of him was just inside of her, and he suddenly stopped everything. 

“No! Dany.” He took her upper arms and set her off of him, to the end of the bed. “Stop.”

She felt bewildered. “What have I done?”

Her words were like a blow to him, and his brow drew together anxiously. His worried eyes kept studying her bare skin, until finally the squeezed close and he said, “Fuck!”

Daenerys waited, and pulled her arms over her chest in confusion.

He took a steadying breath. “I’m…. I’m the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, Dany. My father was not Ned Stark like I thought all along.”

She felt her eyes widen, and colour must have been leaving her face. “You are jesting.”

“No.”

Something wild began to tremble inside of her, and she knew her breathing was shallow. “How?”

“It must be that Rhaegar loved my mother….” Jon’s hand slid up her ribs and grazed her breast before he pulled it away fast. “And didn’t rape her as everyone thought.”

Dany thought of him, in the Dream of the Undying… This was what he meant. “Lyanna Stark. She was your mother?”

Jon met Dany’s eyes, and she wondered how she’d not seen the purple flecks in them before. “She died giving birth to me in a tower in Dorne.” He snorted softly, “I supposed that makes me Jon Sand.”

“It makes you a Targaryen, Jon.” She breathed. And blood of my blood….

“It makes me every bit a bastard as I was before.” He answered, “only now I’m your nephew. I’m older than you, and I’m your fucking nephew.”

“You are-” she choked slightly on her words and his eyes snapped to her face, “You’re a dragon.”

“I don’t know how to be a dragon,” he said, in exasperation. “But I- I can’t touch you anymore, Dany.”

“What?!”

“Not until I… I’ve had a chance to think.”

Dany felt blindsided by her own despair, but wholly unwilling to give up easily. Because she knew the cause of his distance, she decided to challenge it, sliding right back over his knee, agilely. He let her come, and his eyes were heavy with desire, but his hands fell slack at his sides, and he didn’t kiss her back when she pressed her lips against his. In that hushed space when their noses touched, she opened her heart to him.

“I don’t care what your last name is,” she whispered. “I love you Jon.”

His eyes, huge and complexly dark met hers, widened…and then closed. Dany felt her heart would shatter, when he closed them. He closed himself. Slowly, she backed off of him, moved to the end of the bed and pulled her dress back on, with trembling fingers.

“Dany,” he began.

She jumped to her feet quickly, “Don’t.”

“Wait- ”

“I will respect your opinion of course Jon, but I can’t just turn off my love, no matter what duty tells me.”

“Dany!”

“And if I’m really meant to, then you must not call me that anymore.” As she said this a tear skipped down her face and landed on him, somewhere. He looked completely lost, and the image pained her so much, that she lashed out, in desparation. “You’ll make a fine King, you know. Putting the opinions of others above your own heart.”

Dany fled out of the room before he could see her crying any more, and she found herself in a large stone passage with servants everywhere and a lot of household traffic. She quickly wiped her eyes, and nodded kindly at a few who skidded to a stop and bowed to her. If she could just recall where her own quarters were, she would be able to release her tears in seclusion.

This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t be happening.

Someone led her to her room, a sweet little servant boy she thought, but she was so distracted she hardly said thank you. When she was safely behind doors, she dropped her head into her hands and wept. It was only a short while later that she felt her scribes loving hands pull her up from the ground where she’d fallen to. Missandei wiped the tears from her face and comforted Dany, like a mother might have. If felt good to be able to cry.

Drawing her a bath, Missandei made every decision for the next while, leading Dany to the water and laying out the right dress and cloak. She washed Dany’s hair, and braided it, still wet around her crown while Dany soaked. Missandei bore good news about Greyworm, having awaken and now with his men, painting a picture of the lands outside for Dany, and how the armies were fairing. A noisy fire and Missandei’s voice lulled at her eyes, and the rafters stretched up above her, strong and unmoving, like Jon. But even they would succumb to a dragons fire, she thought, and then slowly drifted off into darkness, where only the warm, crackling hearth-fire was still alive.

Daenerys woke with a start, and Missandei calmed her. “How late is the hour?”

“The feast has just begun Your Grace.” Her scribe answered.

Dany sighed and rose to her feet, “I must attend. “ She said as the water dripped off her and she slipped inside a warm robe. “Have any of the others returned?”

“No Your Grace, but the King is awake.”

“Yes… I know.”

“They say he will not be well enough to come to the feast though.”

Daenerys nodded decidedly and threw the dress on. For the first time since White Harbour she looked at her own face and was appalled to see the blue tint in her skin, and clinging to her lips. Her eyes were dark, almost black and shone with fever but she forced colour into her cheeks with two hard pinches and fell back to some of those little pots of colour she’d gotten from Qarth to make herself look less like an Undying Warlock. Missandei skillfully made it all look less severe, and then donned her own gown to compliment Dany’s and they left for the feast together. Her khalasar looking very heavily furred, and joining her at the end of the hall, was like a return to her post as Queen.

Winterfell was a myriad of passageways and corridors, Missandei had a general idea about, and they could hear their way to the dining hall well enough, but as soon as they’d entered, nearly every soul in the place went completely silent and turned to stare at them. There was a brief flash of anxiety inside her, like one of those times she felt like the weak little girl who followed around Vyseris, long ago. But she lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and walked straight down the centre of the feast hall, while the whispers rose. Up ahead was Sansa Stark, whom she still had not officially met, and beside her it must have been Arya. On the other side, the tall woman Knight Dany had seen at Kings Landing, with Davos next to her. And hobbling up to the center as though added at the last moment was Jon, with a wooden cane.

Dany slowed slightly at the sight of him, but decidedly swept up to Sansa and gave a very respectful nod. “Thank you for the hospitality you’ve shown.”

Sansa blushed and bowed, “It’s nothing, truly Your Grace.”

“I’m afraid I don't know anything about how to be a a lady of Westeros, perhaps you will be my advisor.”

The tall, beautiful thing looked flattered and then asked, “I hope you are comfortable?”

Dany smiled at her, “I’ve been on a dragon for days at a time, this is truly comfort.”

“I told you,” whispered Arya to her sister before turning to Dany, “Your Grace, can anyone ride them? The dragons?”

By now the hall was back into it’s loud state, and Dany was invited to join them at the table. Arya herself called for room to be made for Dany’s bloodriders, whom Sansa was both repelled and seemingly intrigued by. As it happens, the dragons were Dany’s truly favourite subject and for much of the feast she answered the curious girls barrage of questions. So many times, she caught Jon’s eyes on her, far more purposefully than when she might have noticed, back on Dragonstone, but she forced herself to ignore it. To stop even looking his way.

That eventually meant wandering the hall just to be free from the temptation. And she ordered the khalasar to enjoy the meal, and let her ramble on her own. The Northman didn’t like her, she could tell by their stiff bows and dark looks, but at the farthest corner from the family’s table she met with the friendly face of Varys at least.

“Your Grace,” he bowed in the way only he could. “I have many things to say.”

“Ah, yes.” Dany prepared herself for the usual update on other parts of Westeros, and even further but this time Varys looked chilled, and very serious.

“This place is not safe,” said Varys warned, “there are more than a few rumours flying that the wall bleeds an enemy from the North that is sweeping the land already. And the Golden Company…”

“What?” she pressed.

“They follow a new commander, it is rumoured.”

“Who?” she demanded. “Varys? Who!”

“Daario N’haris.”

Dany blinked at the name. “But thats a good thing, is it not?”

“As long as the sells-word doesn’t hear about the northern king.”

Dany sighed and faced the feast, “I knew I should have had more discretion.”

Varys walked up beside her, turning to watch as well, namely the high table where the wolves sat. “There is an old legend I recall from my days as a traveling actor. I’d forgotten the story, for a long time, but something about it reminds me of this situation we are in now, here in the North. There are certain similarities that cannot be denied.”

“Similarities?” she tried to hide the distraction in her voice when she saw a couple speaking to the king. It looked like a large, young Maester and a nervous girl with a baby in her arms, all of whom Jon was overjoyed to see. Varys went on with his strange news but she was watching another interaction take place with the younger Stark girl, and the red haired man from Braavos. This was making the tall blonde woman of Tarth nervous, and needing to be calmed by Davos, with a mild shake of his head. And then Sansa, despite being very adored by her Northern nobles, and Dany’s bloodriders alike, was watching Daenerys with skilfull stealth.

“…the blade of legend has been lost to time, of course,” Varys was saying, then, “Are you well, My Queen?” His perceptive gaze trailed over to Jon. “No trouble?”

She faced him, and asked. “Did you know Rhaegar, at all?”

The advisor paused before he answered, by the way his eyes drifted once from Jon to her, and back to Jon again, he was beginning to figure out why she asked. “I knew him well enough to know he was good and just. Many of us wished he was King.”

“He’d have been a better King than my father.”

“The thing I wonder about now, Your Grace, is if he’d have been better than you.”

Nothing prepared her for the wave of sadness his compliment gave her, and at that moment Jon met her eyes across the long hall. He tilted his head down to her, out of respect but no smile passed between them. Would her oldest brother have loved Jon and made him legitimate? Fate had thrust her here into this quest for the Iron throne, ripping all the possibilities in life away from her and replacing them with this infuriating game. And now, it took Jon. Her Jon….

She left the hall with little disturbance, most likely because the Northmen didn’t really want her there anyway. The overheated spaces switched into frigid open courtyard, where the night was quiet but tense with falling snow. Her mind was on fire, and the biting cold was at least stayed by her wild thoughts. Maybe it was the Undying dream still lingering in her, but she felt she knew which way to go, and took to a pensive, and peaceful pathway into the woods which brought her to a frozen pond under a shimmering crimson tree, dancing in the moonlit night. In the white trunk was a haunting and bleeding face, carved right into it. She pulled her white fur robe around herself tighter and looked away. For a long time Daenerys stood on the threshold of this ancient tree breathing in the soft, woodsy scent in the air and letting drops of snow melt on her face. That was when a voice broke the silence and made her jump in fright.

“The blood of old Valyria is in you,” it said, and she locked eyes with what seemed like the tree itself speaking. “Daenerys Stormborn,”

“You’re Brandon Stark.” She answered, “Aren’t you?”

“Once I was, “ was all he said. An angular and serious boy, he looked like a half-grown version of Jon, but had the eyes of the oldest of men.

“You helped me, “ she told him, “Thank you.”

He regarded her rather blankly and almost as an afterthought, said, “You will help us all, before the end.”

Puzzled, she took a seat on a snow covered log across from him and said, “How do you seem to know such things, One who was once Brandon Stark?”

She expected perhaps to draw him out a bit, but the boy stared at her with a face not unlike the tree’s beside him and finally said, “Your brother’s death should not have a place of guilt in your heart any more, Stormborn. He struck you often, and made you weak.” Dany swallowed, and stared. “He also told you he would let all the Dothraki riders and their horses rape you if it brought him a crown. But the crown was not meant for him.”

He stopped, and she realized he was looking past her. Dany turned to find she’d been followed by Jon, who was listening raptly, and who’s shoulders fell when he met her eyes. “I… I’m sorry-”

But suddenly, a garbled and strange noise made them turn back to Brandon Stark, who jerked and convulsed. Dany jumped to her feet and cried, “Whats wrong!”

“I don’t know.” Jon took the boy out of the chair, bewildered. “Bran?”

White foam covered his mouth and his eyes were rolled back, as he struggled against Jon, who tried desperately to hold him. And then Bran became still. Danny’s breath appeared in worried puffs before her face, and Jon turned to face her, fear and confusion written in his eyes. She almost asked if she should fetch help when a torturous scream split the woods. Jon shot to his feet, his eyes darting, and by the time the shriek had died, his Valyrian sword rang out, and his arm slid across her protectively.

But they soon realized the sound was coming from Bran himself, and when he looked their way at last, his eyes were icy blue, like the devils Dany had seen North of the wall. He smiled, cruelly, and said, “Just like last time, where the hero Ashai is, there Nysa Nysa will be.”

A glance back her way, told Daenerys that Jon was every bit as confused with this as she was, and he turned back to his brother, saying, ” Who are you?”

The withered legs of the boy, shuddered under him as he rose, his long finger pointed right at her. “She will be the Night Kings bride.”

“Bran!” Jon shouted and the undead demon inside the boy fled, leaving him twitching and falling to the snow. Jon rushed to him and helped him back in the chair.

“He’s coming!” Bran said, “breached the Wall- and -” The boy glanced at Daenerys. “He means to have her, alive. To control his…”

Jon glared ahead, “What…”

“His dragon.”

“What?” Daenerys felt the air rush out of her. “His what?”

“He turned one of your dragons,” Brandon said, oblivious to the pain that struck her heart just then, “It was why he let Jon and his company live so long up there on the frozen lake. It was to bait you in… he… he’s been waiting for you. And you brought him what he needed.”

Dany’s stomach was sick, and Jon growled out loud and sliced the ground with his sword. “I’m a fucking fool!”

“We need to stop him,” Dany said, staring ahead at the woods, flecked with falling snow. “Ride out and stop him in his tracks.”

“We need to plan our defence of Winterfell.” Jon said instead. “There are people to keep safe.”

Daenerys felt weary with grief and the thought of military planning was like an assault, to which she closed her eyes in defence. “You’ll forgive me, I feel tired suddenly.” She met Jon’s gaze and gave him a nod, “I’m sure the two of you have much to say.”

The path back felt shorter, maybe because her thoughts were even more flustered. She retired to her room with no ceremony, being able to slip past the hall unnoticed by all except her scribe. Missandei caught up to her in the halls, and looked alarmed.

“Your Grace,” she looped Dany’s arm under hers, “I must bring you a Maester. You have not recovered!”

“No, please. I just wish to sleep,” said Dany, and as soon as they were in her room, Missandei pulled the snowy robe off, and proceeded to unlace the dress, deep blue in colour and snugger than before around the top.

“When you are ready, you may tell me the things you saw, within the Warlocks dream?”

Dany swallowed hard and thought of the blue eyes of Jon, and the sharp cold sword in her gut. Then Bran just now, with his icy voice, and that same glowing stare. The Night Kings stare. He was waiting for her, to bring the dragons, and she did just that. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

The door suddenly burst in, with a massive force and Jon walked in, his fists balled. “Leave us,” he told Missandei and the scribe’s dark eyes shifted over to Daenerys.

She straightened her shoulders, wet her lips bravely and nodded to Missandei, “I will see you in the morning.”

When the heavy door creaked shut again, Jon said, “Come here.”

Dany shook her head, and a tear fell loose. “You said-”

“Fuck what I said. I know nothing, Dany.” His eyes trailed over her half-dressed body. “Come to me.”

“Your people,” she bit her lip hard, keeping her feet from moving. “Aren’t you worried about what they will think?”

“I’m Targaryen,” He told her, and something in his face was changed. “So what.” He smiled, and it made her breathless. “I love you, and nothing will change that.”

Her blood was stirring, and she tried to fight her heavy breathing, to look anywhere but at him. But then he reached his hand out to her, and his face looked so painfully beautiful.

“Please,” he said, “please, my love.”

She stumbled forward, and ended up wound inside him, meeting thier soft lips and driving herself mad with how much she wanted him. In this space, hiding away from the world, nothing mattered anymore. She was hungry, and it came out in the way she kissed him, because he pulled back and smiled at her, knowingly. Stroking the hair off her face, and keeping eye contact as he pushing inside of her, forbidden or not. Maybe it was his youth, matched by hers, and the thought that they could do anything to each other in those moments, but huge waves of pleasure were forcing shut her eyes. Jon thrust inside her, clamping around her back possessively, as though he meant to keep her there forever. They upset every piece of furniture in the room, and slammed the bed hard into the wall. He covered her mouth once, but it only fed the fire and made her cry out, uncontrollably. Fueled by whatever fire he felt, she rode him, like she’d never been able to with anyone before, eyes closed and pulling her hair off her neck. Every time she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her, from her hair down to the fusing together of their bodies. She dragged her hand down her neck, over her breast and settled it on his thing behind her, rolling her hips and hitting a rythym that brought the climax fast.

Jon’s body stiffened and he banged himself upward, prolonging the feeling inside her, until he was speant, and clinging hard to her, damp with sweat. He gave her only seconds to catch her breath, before he changed. For a moment she thought he was leaving when he stood up, his breathing heavier, and his eyes darker. She laid back on her elbows and watched him watch her, as though he was wrestling with demons inside, and effectively losing. All she had to do was turn in her knee a little and bite her lip, and he grabbed her ankle, yanking her back across the sheets. For one sweep of his hands up her waist and over her breasts she stayed on her back, and then spun her around.

His palms settled over her hips and he drew her up to her hands and knees. Nervously, she froze, “Wait…”

“Shhhh.” He said, spreading his hands out over her bottom, and then smacking it hard. So hard she initially felt sharp, biting pain, but it was followed by the most stirring, undeniable want, that she looked back over her shoulder at him, just as he slapped her skin again, and her whole body shuddered. The burning in her face was more than just her shy reaction, it was the heat of her arousal. Back arching, she could hardly control the backwards motion, nuzzling her bottom against his groin.

He squeezed her ass hard, and with the next strike, she felt all lust and no pain, and the words tore out of her when she said, “Oh ffffffuck!”

 

His fingers wrapped around her upper arms and she was trapped, but still unentered, so her bottom wiggled against him longingly. He growled out a dark laugh.”Easy.” He said, “We have all night.”


End file.
